


Healing wounds

by Kitacular



Series: More than Brothers [2]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Bloodplay, Consensual Kink, Corporal Punishment, Dom/sub, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fear Play, Hurt Aramis, M/M, Men Crying, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slavery, True Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-14
Updated: 2015-12-27
Packaged: 2018-05-06 18:05:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 30
Words: 58,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5426597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kitacular/pseuds/Kitacular
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While Porthos is on leave, Aramis is deployed on a training exercise in Savoy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Stopping the bleeding

March 1625

 

"Hey Captain! Gonna join us for a game of cards?" Porthos called. Captain Tréville walked back into his office without answering. "Well he's bloody tense tonight. What's wrong with 'im? It's only a training exercise they're on," he muttered to the Musketeers gathered.

  
  


  
  


The door to Captain Tréville's office burst open.

"KNOCK!" shouted the Captain. Turning round from where he was preparing his travelling clothes, he saw the bulky form of Porthos filling the doorway.

Porthos strode to the Captain, almost vibrating with tension. His jaw was painfully clenched and he was unable to form the words. The Captain, however, understood.

"I don't know, Porthos. I don't know. All I know is they've been attacked," said the Captain quickly, putting his hat on and making for the door. Porthos reached out and held his arm.

"Survivors?" Porthos managed to grind out between his teeth. Captain Tréville paused and looked at the floor before looking back up to Porthos.

"I don't know, Porthos. I just don't know."

Porthos let the Captain's arm go and Tréville swept from the room without another word. Porthos stood rigid and struggled to understand. "Aramis," he whispered to the empty room.

  
  


 

Aramis woke with a gasp. He screwed his eyes closed, scared to find out what was there if he should open them. Pressing his head back, he recognised his own pillow. He groped around the bed to make sure. He felt his sheets. He recognised the feel of his mattress. He jumped a mile to find a hand on his bed. He threw his own hands over his eyes in terror. Had he never left the forest?

"Hey, hey," murmured a voice. Was it Marsac?

"You aren't here," moaned Aramis into his hands. In answer he felt his hand pulled away from his face. He felt lips brush lightly over the back of it before it was laid gently at his side, strong warm hands clasping it tightly. Hands he knew. Lips he knew.

"Porthos?" whispered Aramis uncertainly, not daring to open his eyes. "Am I home? Am I really safe?"

"Yes," answered Porthos thickly. Aramis finally opened his eyes and turned his head to see Porthos seated beside the bed. Porthos was watching Aramis, his dark face unreadable. Porthos was struggling not to be distressed by the dead look in Aramis' normally bright, shining eyes.

There was noise of heavy boots moving outside the door. Aramis sat up quickly, scrambling until he was sat up against his headboard, watching the door warily.

"Hey, hey," murmured Porthos again, re-taking Aramis' hand and squeezing gently.

"Why are they here, Porthos?" whispered Aramis, uncharacteristically fearful. A pained expression passed over Porthos' face as he watched Aramis.

"You were the only survivor, Aramis. The Captain needs to talk to you."

"They think- But I- I could never-"

"Easy. Easy now, brother. You're hurtin' still. The Captain wants you to rest and to talk you only when you're up to it," Porthos explained, moving one of his hands to stroke Aramis' arm gently. Aramis stared blankly at Porthos.

"Hurt?"

Your head," Porthos answered, his expression tight. Aramis ran his hand through his dishevelled hair and winced as he immediately found the bandage on his head. He raised his eyebrows at Porthos who nodded silently.

Porthos watched sadly and without comment as his friend's hand dropped and his eyes immediately glazed over as he stared across the room. Porthos simply tightened his grip on the hand he was holding while Aramis clearly was seeing and hearing things Porthos could not. Aramis slowly turned his gaze back to Porthos and looked at him with such pain and pleading in his eyes that Porthos' heart nearly broke to see it.

"Please Porthos. Tell me it was a dream. Please don't make it true. It didn't happen really, did it? They're not all-" Aramis trailed off, tears gathering in his eyes.

Porthos didn't answer. He simply wrapped his arms around Aramis and pulled him close to his chest. As he felt Aramis begin to weep, Porthos shed a single tear and pressed a kiss into the mass of black hair under his chin.

 


	2. Examining the wound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aramis is questioned by a distressed Captain Tréville

"Aramis. Come in. You may go, Porthos," said the Captain quietly.

Porthos shook his head and followed Aramis through the door into the Captain's office. Aramis walked, out of habit, to stand in front of Tréville's desk. Instead, Tréville walked to the two chairs in front of his small fire.

"Take a seat, Aramis," he said, sitting down and gesturing at the other. Aramis glanced uncertainly at Porthos, surprised by the deviation from the norm. Porthos gave a small shrug.

"Captain," said Aramis, sitting down. Captain Tréville looked up at Porthos and repeated himself.

"You may go, Porthos."

Porthos shook his head again and simply stood silent behind Aramis' chair. The Captain sighed. He looked, to Aramis, as if he had aged 10 years since before Aramis had left for Savoy. They were his men, Aramis supposed.

"I don't know what more I can tell you, Captain. We were attacked while we slept. They outnumbered us three to one and we were still waking up. We didn't stand a chance. Those who woke in time fought. Those who didn't..." Aramis paused and swallowed.

Porthos raised a hand and squeezed his shoulder briefly before dropping his hand to his side again. The Captain narrowed his eyes at the gesture but said nothing. Aramis took a deep breath and continued.

"It was a raiding party. They were all masked. I managed to wound their leader but I was struck in the side of the head by a pistol," Aramis gestured at the stitching that could still be seen under his hair. The Captain nodded. "I fell. Marsac pulled me into the trees while the fighting continued. He and I listened as our friends-," Aramis paused and swallowed again. "I fell unconscious. When I woke I was very confused. I could barely stand. I saw every one of our troop laying dead. They were- well you saw them, Captain. That is the sight that greeted me. I also saw Marsac. He was sat amongst them, crying and shaking. He ripped off his uniform and rode off. I remained there until I could gather my strength enough to find a wandering horse. I rode into the closest village and fell at the innkeeper's feet. I remember only fleeting moments of the journey back until I woke in my own bed three days ago," he finished quietly.

Captain Tréville nodded quietly.

"You saw nothing of who attacked you, Aramis?" he asked. Aramis shook his head.

"They were masked, Captain. I was trying to unmask their leader after wounding him when I was struck. My guess would be the Spanish? Honestly though, Captain," Aramis sighed. "I just don't know."

"And Marsac?" asked Tréville.

"I don't expect him to come back, Captain. He just left. He threw down his uniform before he rode off."

"He has deserted?" asked the Captain, resigned. Aramis looked up sharply at the word.

"I believe so, Captain," he answered sadly. Porthos again squeezed Aramis' shoulder.

Standing up, Captain Tréville walked to his desk. Aramis stood too. He and Porthos followed.

"I am signing you off on leave to rest for another four days, Aramis. I expect you back on duty after that, understood?"

"Yes, Captain. Thank you," said Aramis, nodding once.

"You too, Porthos," added Tréville.

Porthos blinked in surprise before simply nodding.

"Thanks Captain," he said quietly.

Tréville nodded at the door and they both turned to leave. Tréville followed them to the door and as Porthos made to follow Aramis, the Captain took his arm for a moment.

"Be careful, Porthos," he said, too quietly for Aramis to hear. Porthos opened his mouth to reply but the Captain merely gripped his arm tighter. "Be careful, Porthos," he repeated.

Porthos nodded in reply and followed Aramis out the door. Closing it behind them both, Captain Tréville walked back to his desk and let his head fall into hands.


	3. Stitching the wound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The two Musketeers explore how they really feel.

"Why have I been spared, Porthos?" asked Aramis, striding about his chambers. Porthos said nothing, simply letting Aramis' thoughts run their course. "I should have died, too. I can't bear the shame of living. I should have died too, with my friends!"

"Stupid thing to say," said Porthos bluntly, speaking for the first time since they'd left the garrison that morning. "You don't mean that. You're just upset."

"I should have stopped him, Porthos!" shouted Aramis. "I should have chased him. Thrown myself upon him. Shot his horse! Something!"

"You don't owe that man anything," grunted Porthos in reply, watching his friend stride about the room from his chair by the fire.

"I owe him my life!"

At this Porthos had finally had enough. He stood abruptly, the chair scraping back loudly.

"You owe 'im nothing, Aramis!" said Porthos angrily. "He left you there! Any debt you think you might owe Marsac for dragging you to safety was made meaningless when he left you there in the snow, injured and alone!"

Aramis threw up his arms and snorted at Porthos. Porthos strode over to him and gripped him tightly by the arms.

"Do you understand, you could have died, Aramis? Not just during the fight. After he left you. What if you'd never woken up? You would have died, alone and miles from me. I might never 'ave known! Did you even think about that? Did you even consider I could have lost you and never found out how or why!" Porthos said, his voice rising to a shout as his grip on Aramis increased. He suddenly let go of his friend and took a step back. "I should've been there with you, Aramis. I should never have taken that leave. I should have been in that camp by your side," he said quietly, looking at the floor.

Aramis stared at Porthos in shock. Porthos watched him growing angry.

"I'm sorry, Aramis. I shouldn't have said that. It's not for you to consider my feelings," Porthos said miserably.

"Oh you fool, Porthos! Out of everything we've said since I got back, you think **that** is what I'm bothered by?" Aramis said, exasperated. He threw up his arms again. "You fool!" he said again.

"Spit it out then, Aramis. What's your problem? What exactly is it that you're so upset by?" Porthos said, folding his arms.

"That you should have been there!"

"I should! If I 'adn't been on leave I would been there to... to..."

"Die!" shouted Aramis. "You would have died, Porthos. **That** is the stupid thing you said. The idea that you should be anything but vibrant and alive is a ridiculous notion!"

"By your side is where I should be, Aramis!"

"You're not listening, Porthos!" Aramis resumed pacing. "You ask me what you would have done had I died far from you. What do you think I would do had you died? I can't abide that thought, Porthos! Have you learned nothing in these past three years?"

Aramis turned to find Porthos had followed him and now stood only inches from him. Aramis opened his mouth to say something but found his mouth quickly covered by that of Porthos. There was nothing gentle about this kiss. Porthos kissed him with a ferocity and a passion that was almost alarming. Then, just as quickly as it had begun, it stopped. Porthos stepped back and regarded Aramis steadily.

"Understand now?" asked Porthos. Aramis nodded silently and took him by the hand, leading him back to the chairs by the fire.

The two men sat in a comfortable silence, each lost in their own thoughts.

Porthos found his thoughts straying to the Court of Miracles where he'd grown up. He'd lain with men there. It was a matter of necessity, though. A coping mechanism. He'd known soldiers in the infantry who had crossed certain lines in the name of brotherhood to get through battles. That's not what he felt for Aramis. He'd only ever loved one person this way. Flea. Even then, it was never like this. She was a refuge to come back to. To escape the world. Aramis felt like he **was** the world. Porthos remembered feeling like Flea was the warm thing he huddled round to keep warm. Aramis shined brighter and burned hotter than anyone he'd ever met. He cast light and warmth on Porthos every time they were near one another. Porthos himself felt brighter, just for being close. This was something new. Something real. This was love. This is what poets must be writing about. But it was wrong. By all the laws of God and men, it was wrong to feel about a man this way. This was not love between friends. This was beyond even love between brothers. He was full of the impure thoughts that one shouldn't have about inconvenient women, let alone another man. Was risking his immortal soul worth it? For three years he'd convinced himself that it wasn't. That being Aramis' friend above all others was enough. After coming so close to losing him, it was becoming harder and harder to justify denying what they both seemed to need.

Aramis, on the other hand, was less conflicted. He had realised on that table in Île de Ré that he loved Porthos. He also knew this went much deeper than the love he had for women he'd known in the past. They were enjoyable, they were fun. He loved them, certainly. Porthos, however. Porthos lit a fire in his belly every time he came swaggering through the gate in the mornings. Every time he heard his big booming voice or saw him laugh, somehow with his whole body, Aramis knew love. He could pick Porthos out in a darkened room by feel alone. Every time they fought together, Porthos steadied him. Porthos tied him to the world. For too long Aramis had let himself float through life, just waiting for it to end in some battle or other. He'd always thought the only way he was ever going to feel truly alive after the loss of his child was to be seconds from death. Now he realised he had a new life. He fought **for** life, now, not just to avoid death. As far as the argument against laying with a man went, Aramis was not so dogmatic. He felt closest to God when he experienced the joy of love. In those moments Porthos would clasp his shoulder, touch his hand or in those three wonderful kisses, Aramis knew God loved them both and their love was His gift to them. Watching Porthos, however, he understood at least some of the doubts his friend was going to have. He knew Porthos would have less issue with the laws of man but the laws of God might be hard for him to dismiss. Aramis would need a plan.


	4. Applying the bandage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aramis becomes determined to make Porthos accept their feelings.

As the sky darkened, Porthos groaned and stretched his legs. He stood to light the candles, knowing where they all were in Aramis' small chambers. Aramis stood and stretched, too. His stomach gave an angry growl and Porthos chuckled. Porthos nodded toward the small kitchen area and Aramis followed and sat at his small dining table. Porthos moved around Aramis' cupboards and found some modest cheese and bread and laid them on the table. As they ate, Porthos talked about what he'd been up to on his leave while Aramis had been away. Porthos found a bottle of wine for them and was about to pour a glass when Aramis stopped him. Porthos raised his eyebrow and Aramis stood and walked round the table to him. He reached up and gently cradled Porthos' face. He felt Porthos tense up.

"I want you to know I am entirely sober when I do this, Porthos," he said quietly. He slowly closed the last few inches and gently pressed his lips to those of his friend. He felt Porthos resist and thought he understood. "Love is never wrong, Porthos. Listen to your heart, not your head." He felt rather than heard Porthos start to say something and gently kissed him again, lighter this time. "Listen to it, Porthos," Aramis murmured without breaking contact. Porthos again tried to speak, more feebly this time and was greeted by another gentle, maddeningly light kiss. Aramis felt Porthos sigh against his lips in what sounded like resignation and again, kissed him, this time barely brushing his lips against Porthos' His tactics were rewarded by a frustrated groan from deep within Porthos' chest.

Aramis took hold of Porthos' hands and reached round to place them upon his own back before placing his own hands on Porthos' back until they were embracing each other. Aramis continued to whisper to Porthos, his lips close enough that they brushed Porthos' with every word.

"God is a being of love, Porthos, He loves us all. Being able to feel that love on Earth is His greatest gift to us," he whispered. "We're men, Porthos. We're soldiers. We're physical beings. We love each other, do we not?" Aramis paused and kissed Porthos forcefully, gripping the back of his shirt tightly. He felt Porthos' surprise and then his friend's lips began to move against his own. In response, Aramis immediately stopped the kiss and resumed whispering to Porthos. "If we love each other in all other ways, my dear Porthos, why not this way? We love each other as brothers, as friends, as comrades, why not actually **love** each other?"

"But-"

Porthos' replying whisper was cut short by Aramis' tongue flicking out across Porthos' lips. Aramis bent himself back slightly so the length of his body was pressed against Porthos. He felt another deep groan in Porthos' chest. It vibrated through into Aramis and he shivered in response.

Porthos was growing increasingly frustrated. He was struggling to cling to his beliefs. He'd never dedicated his life to God but some rules were too big to break. This had to be more moral than the desperation he'd experienced in the Court but this was also not going to be a fleeting one-time occurrence. If he let this fuse be lighted, he knew he would never be able to stop it again.

On the other hand, he could feel his small-clothes becoming tighter with Aramis' every breath across his lips. Every second Aramis' lean body was pressed up against him ebbed away at his resolve.

Aramis was using all his self-control not to throw himself at Porthos and rub up and down like a cat. His friend was the strongest person he knew and for the first time since meeting him, Aramis was cursing that strength. He had one trick left.

Aramis pulled himself even tighter against Porthos until he was practically stuck to him. He kissed Porthos again, slightly firmer but still gentle. As their lips met, Aramis let out an almost silent breathy moan of appreciation, gripping Porthos' shirt as he did so and when finally their lips parted, he sighed against Porthos.

Porthos felt his last piece of self-control crumble. He moved his hands lower on Aramis' back and held his slighter friend against himself. Porthos growled deep in his chest and kissed Aramis for all he was worth. Aramis responded happily, flicking his tongue across Porthos' lips. Porthos growled again and nipped at Aramis' bottom lip. When Aramis gasped, Porthos took the opportunity to investigate, slipping his own tongue past those lovely lips and rubbing against Aramis'. Aramis gave a moan of his own and pressed back against the invading tongue. They began fighting for dominance, each one hungry to taste the other at their own leisure. Porthos had been right, now the fuse had been lit, there was no stopping.

Aramis pulled his head back suddenly, landing light kisses on Porthos' lips, never staying long enough for Porthos to kiss him back. Porthos quickly put a stop to it. His hand wound its way into the dark tresses of Aramis and held his head back. Lowering his head, he placed his lips at Aramis' ear.

“Tease,” he growled quietly. He felt Aramis pull his head away but Porthos refused to release his grip. “My turn,” he whispered, a hint of menace creeping in that made Aramis shiver from head to toe.

Porthos let his teeth graze over Aramis' ear. His breath tickling down over the back of Aramis' neck. He kissed, nipped and licked his way up and down the line of Aramis' jaw, following the line of his beard. His path led him back to Aramis' ear and his mouth moved slightly lower, nipping at the skin, licking across where he could feel the rapid pulse of his partner fluttering. He smiled as he felt Aramis' hands clutching desperately at his back. Feeling Aramis shiver as his tongue passed a spot just where his jaw and neck met, Porthos nipped gently. Aramis shuddered in Porthos' arms. Porthos smiled against Aramis' throat and nipped again, this time with more pressure. Aramis gasped at the sudden and slight pain and Porthos felt his body jerk in his arms.

“I liked that,” Porthos growled, lowering his head to bite Aramis again, being rewarded with the same enticing movement of Aramis' body against his own.

Porthos let go of Aramis' hair and let his hands wander up and down Aramis' back, his fingers following the line of his spine. He smirked as it took Aramis a few seconds to open his eyes enough to focus on him. As Aramis' eyes opened, Porthos felt his heart leap as he saw some of the former light had returned. He waited until Aramis was focussed enough to see what he was doing before looking him up and down and licking his lips hungrily. He was rewarded with a low moan from Aramis and a rush of colour to his cheeks.

“Do you have any idea how beautiful you are, Aramis? Always. Today, though, you are downright gorgeous,” Porthos said quietly, his hands constantly moving on Aramis' back.

Aramis felt himself blushing under Porthos' gaze. It wasn't being admired that made him embarrassed. He'd never been shy about his looks. He'd seen women look at him with love in the past but it had always been blind devotion. It was his attitude, his position as a Musketeer and his looks they loved. The way Porthos was gazing at him now it was genuine love. Love that came from a place much deeper. This was how it felt to have a soulmate, Aramis realised in that moment. Tears came to his eyes.

“What is it, my love?” asked Porthos softly. Aramis chuckled at the endearment.

“That, Porthos. Love. I'd never realised love could be like this. I never dreamed... Even Isabelle...” Aramis trailed off, smiling softly.

“It's been a long day, Aramis,” said Porthos quietly. “We're only on leave so you could rest. Let's rest. We can talk more in the morning.” He slowly detached himself from Aramis, pulling Aramis' hands from his back and kissing each one in turn. Aramis smiled and nodded, backing up to lean against the table for Porthos to pass.

“Will you stay here with me, Porthos?” asked Aramis quietly.

“Nah. I like my own space too much,” Porthos answered, chuckling.

“Porthos,” Aramis said quietly. "I believe you haven't left my side since I arrived back in Paris. Please don't do it now.”

Porthos watched Aramis carefully.

“Aramis?” asked Porthos. Aramis sighed.

“I dream of the forest. I have done every night. When I wake and can find your hand, even when you don't notice I'm awake, I feel better. I see you sleeping at my side and I know I'm safe. Not because I'm here but because you are,” Aramis answered, looking at the floor. Porthos saw how much it cost him to admit this fear, strode quickly to Aramis and lifted his chin. He kissed Aramis' upturned face.

“Then I'll stay,” he said simply. “Now, bedtime,” he added, chuckling.

“You too, Porthos,” replied Aramis. “I won't have you sleeping hunched over in that chair any more. My bed is plenty big enough for two.”

Porthos glanced doubtfully at the bed in the corner of the room and back to Aramis and raised his eyebrow.

“No funny business, I promise you, my love,” Aramis said quietly. “Even when we camp with the regiment we've always slept better side by side.”

Porthos dramatically rolled his eyes and strode over the bed, taking his shirt off as he went. He felt eyes on him and turned to see Aramis staring at him hungrily. Porthos cleared his throat loudly.

“Oh I wasn't looking, honest!” exclaimed Aramis. He moved across the room towards Porthos. “I was just... admiring my own needlework. I'm quite the craftsman, you know.” He reached his hand out to touch the scar on Porthos' shoulder blade. “Two inches deep that one, I seem to remember. Can hardly see it.” he said quietly, his fingers lightly stroking the faint mark. He was pleased to see Porthos shiver slightly at his touch. “Now, now, my love. None of that. You told me it was bedtime.”

Porthos rolled his eyes again and stripped off his boots and breeches. Aramis continued to stare unabashedly. Laughing good naturedly, Porthos held his muscular arms out and turned in a circle slowly for Aramis to look to his heart's content. Aramis' face broke into his characteristic wide smile and Porthos' heart swelled. It was the first time he'd seen that smile since Aramis had mounted his horse to ride with the regiment to Savoy.

Aramis returned the favour. Naturally, however, he was much more flamboyant. He was smooth, artistic in his movements. He stripped slowly, teasingly, moving ever closer to Porthos as he did so. As he reached Porthos, he stood in his under-shorts and shirt only. Porthos assisted with his shirt, grasping the hem and pulling it up over his head. Porthos tossed the shirt aside and gazed appreciatively at Aramis' bare torso. He leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to the scar made by the musket ball at Île de Ré. Its significance was not lost on Aramis, who smiled and inclined his head toward Porthos. Porthos lifted his head and kissed Aramis softly. He felt Aramis lean in and instantly, Porthos pulled back.

“Bedtime,” said Porthos. Aramis was gratified to hear a husky, strained note in his voice. Porthos gestured to the bed and Aramis climbed in with a smile, moving against the wall to make room for Porthos. Porthos moved around blowing the candles out and finally laying down beside Aramis. Before Porthos had even finished settling, Aramis had stretched out and moulded himself to Porthos' side.

Porthos stretched his arm out and Aramis immediately raised his head so Porthos could slide his arm under and pull Aramis tightly to his side. They both sighed contentedly and then chuckled at the synchronicity. Porthos felt his eyes growing heavy but knew from the past few nights that it would take Aramis a while to settle enough to sleep. It was to his surprise, then, to feel Aramis' breathing settle into a deep heavy rhythm that could only mean sleep. Porthos smiled contentedly and let himself drift off with the warmth of Aramis against his side.


	5. The wound bleeds again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Porthos realises it won't be so easy to patch Aramis up

Porthos was woken suddenly by a shrieking noise. It took him a few seconds to remember where he was and realise the noise was Aramis. He was thrashing about, throwing himself from side to side.

“Aramis! Aramis!” called Porthos. He gripped Aramis by the arms and shook him firmly. Aramis' eyes flew open. They were wild and confused. Porthos knew immediately placing Aramis against the wall had been a mistake. “Aramis, it's me. Porthos,” he said.

Aramis thrashed in Porthos' grip. Porthos kept hold of him while kicking the sheets off them both. As Porthos rose from the bed, he let go of Aramis. Immediately Aramis flew off the bed and lurched into the middle of the room. He stared around wildly for a minute and then recognised Porthos, who had moved to stand against the wall.

“P-Porthos?” Aramis asked, uncertainly. Porthos crossed to him in two long strides and took his hands.

“I'm 'ere, love,” said Porthos quietly. Aramis sank to the floor and Porthos followed, wrapping his arms around his crouched friend. He felt Aramis' body melt against him as he began to weep.

“They were dying, Porthos. Dying. All of them. I couldn't get to them. I couldn't get away. People were coming for me. I couldn't do anything. I was trapped,” Aramis mumbled rapidly into Porthos' shoulder.

“Shh. They're gone now, Aramis. You're safe. You're here. I've got you,” murmured Porthos quietly into Aramis' hair. He cursed himself for being so careless. He felt the burn of guilt and shame at letting his joy over this new turn in their relationship let him forget his responsibilities around looking after a traumatised comrade.

“Come back to bed, my love,” crooned Porthos. Gently, he tugged at Aramis, who let himself be led blindly to the bed. Porthos settled himself against the wall, his back pressed against it. He reached out for Aramis, who climbed into bed slowly. Porthos pulled Aramis tightly against him so his back was pressed along the length of Porthos' front. He threw his arm over Aramis' stomach and tugged him closer. Aramis clutched at Porthos' arm and slowly he settled again in Porthos' arms.

Porthos dozed lightly, not wanting to let himself sleep too deeply. He would struggle to forgive himself if he missed another nightmare in Aramis. He was roused from this light sleep by Aramis shifting in his sleep. Porthos lifted his head to look down at Aramis. He was muttering in his sleep, too quietly for Porthos to make out the words. He could tell from the crease on Aramis' brow that they were not good things.

“Aramis,” Porthos whispered, leaning down to Aramis' ear. He tugged slightly on Aramis' middle. Aramis mumbled again and flexed his fingers on Porthos' arm. He sighed in his sleep and Porthos felt him relax. Porthos kicked himself mentally. He should have thought of this when they first went to bed. Satisfied Aramis would not bolt again, Porthos let himself think.

Porthos' thoughts wandered once again to his time in the Court of Miracles. The only person he'd ever shared a bed with was Flea. He had certainly had his share of dalliances but he'd never built a life with someone. He'd always jumped up after things had concluded. He'd never fallen asleep with someone, never woken up with someone each morning. As he thought about it, the closest he'd come to regularly waking up with the same person beside him was under canvas with Aramis.

Hadn't Aramis said something along those lines? That they'd always slept better close together or when sharing a mattress. Porthos had always assumed it was a matter of security. He didn't mistrust his Musketeer brothers in any way but he knew, deep in his gut, that Aramis would always have his back. Porthos assumed that was why they chose to bunk together and why they never slept as well on assignment when they didn't. Perhaps, it was more than that. Perhaps, considered Porthos, it was their unconscious minds knowing what they had been denying in their waking hours. They were, quite simply, meant to be together.

Aramis knew it. Hadn't Aramis said they should unite physically? Perhaps that was why physical contact had always made each of them relax in the nights on assignment. It certainly was helping Aramis stave off thoughts that were bothering him. Porthos was sure it must be the forest he was thinking of.

The forest. Porthos sighed. Aramis would seek to move on from what happened without dealing with it. Porthos could not let himself be the passing carriage Aramis clung to in order to escape. How often had he seen Aramis insist on hurting someone more in order to remove a ball from a wound? You could no more stitch over a shot wound with the damage still inside than you could brush off an experience such as this. Porthos had seen too many people trickle down society into the Court, bearing invisible injuries that had festered and consumed them. Too many eyes that were dead, the only signs of life being a flicker of pain when a memory would surface.

They had both known soldiers that had been changed irrevocably and some that had bounced back. Porthos understood the difference. Some learned to live with had happened. They examined it, knew what had happened, understood how it had affected them and accepted it as a part of their patchwork. Others simply ran from it and never stopped running. Porthos considered how Aramis had fled his life and family after Isabelle left. He ran away to the military. He would run from this too if Porthos did nothing.

Aramis sighed in his sleep and Porthos gazed down at him. He was just going to have make sure Aramis had something worth running **to** instead.


	6. Removing the ball

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Musketeers examine the extent of Aramis' injury

The first thing Aramis became aware of as he woke up at dawn was warmth. He smiled to himself and gently stroked his hands up and down the arm wrapped around his waist. He sighed deeply and leant back further against Porthos behind him, listening to that deep rumbling snore he knew so well. He marvelled at the feeling of the vibration through his back. He knew the sound extremely well from their many nights together with the regiment. Porthos' snoring was legendary among the Musketeers. He could often be heard two tents away, especially if he was drunk. It was a new joy to feel him, though. Having Porthos' bare skin pressed against his own was like the finest, most comfortable garment leather a man could hope for.

What happened next, though? Aramis was overjoyed at the thought of finally having Porthos in the way he wanted. Not just physically, though that's what he desperately wanted. Suddenly Aramis' mind flashed back to the feeling of Porthos' hand in his hair. Aramis licked his lips and was pleasantly startled to find his bottom lip felt bruised. He remembered Porthos' teeth making themselves felt on his lip, his jaw and his neck. Oh those bites on his neck. Aramis shivered all over at the thought.

There was something wrong, though. There was something deeper. Aramis didn't really understand. He'd been with women before. He'd shared a bed with them. It had never felt like this, though. He loved Porthos and wanted nothing more on God's Earth than to be with him in all ways. Did Porthos understand that, though? Was this just sympathy from Porthos? Aramis couldn't believe that. Wasn't it Porthos who kissed him all those years ago? Wasn't it Porthos who kissed him first last night? Wasn't it Porthos who talked about laws of nature not being so rigid for him? Suppose Porthos just wants that? The physical relationship? No. That can't be right. Ever since that night all those years ago, Porthos has always known Aramis loved him.

But what of the regiment? They had both decided that same night that their place in the Musketeers was too big a prize to risk. Porthos especially had fought so hard for his commission. Aramis wasn't sure he could abide the thought of being the reason for his dismissal. Neither of them were willing to desert. They were both excellent soldiers and they loved the regiment dearly. If all his dreams came true and Porthos really did want this to be a real relationship, not just an added physical component to their current friendship, how would that impact their work? Aramis could really envisage it working.

Aramis sighed and nuzzled himself back against Porthos and smiled to himself as he heard the familiar grunt as he shifted in his sleep. This was different. No matter what happened between them physically, their relationship had changed. Aramis could already feel himself tied to Porthos. Would it impact how they reacted in battle? Aramis' stomach twisted at the thought of watching his Porthos fight for his life. How would he manage? Is it that different? Had he not loved Porthos for years now? Watched him fight for years. He trusted Porthos to always come back to him in one piece. If he wasn't quite whole, Aramis would be there to patch him up. Aramis chuckled to himself. Perhaps it would give them both a reason to fight harder! Maybe that's even why he always came back because he knew Porthos would be so angry if he didn't!

The smile on his lips died instantly. Sometimes, though, no matter how hard one fights, you will die. Was he truly so heartless to think that twenty of his friends let themselves die because nobody loved them? Marsac. What of Marsac? The regiment were already talking of him as a coward. They weren't there. They didn't see what happened. They didn't watch. Marsac wasn't a coward. Was Aramis? Was he a coward for letting him leave? He sighed again, tears springing to his eyes. Aramis rubbed them away furiously. There was the proof, then. Honourable men didn't cry. Honourable men didn't let their friends die. Honourable men didn't hide in the trees. Honourable men didn't watch their friend throw their life away and, come to think of it, didn't watch someone desert and not even try to stop them.

Aramis realised the snoring had stopped and angrily sniffed and rubbed his eyes before Porthos could notice. He felt Porthos stretch his long legs and groan. Aramis felt himself pulled tight and felt Porthos bury his face into Aramis' hair and inhale deeply.

“Hi,” Porthos murmured sleepily. Aramis didn't trust himself to speak in case Porthos knew he'd been crying. He settled with squeezing his hands where they rested on Porthos' arm. “You OK, love?” Porthos asked softly, stifling a yawn. Aramis simply nodded silently. “Aramis?” Porthos asked, concern edging his voice.

“Fine,” Aramis replied quietly. He felt Porthos pull away and his heart sank. He knew it was too good to be true. Clearly Porthos was ashamed of him. Why wouldn't he be?

Porthos simply propped himself up on one elbow and tugged Aramis' shoulder. Aramis obeyed the pressure and turned onto his back in resignation. He stared at the ceiling so he wouldn't see disappointment in Porthos' eyes.

“Look at me, Aramis,” said Porthos quietly. Aramis didn't move. “Aramis. I need you to look at me.” Porthos waited patiently, laying his broad hand on Aramis' stomach. They lay like that for several long minutes. Finally Aramis couldn't take the tension and tried to get up. Porthos pressed his hand down to stop him rising. “Look at me, Aramis,” he repeated softly.

Aramis braced himself for the rejection and finally flicked his gaze to the dark face hovering above his own. He was startled to see Porthos looking so calm. He smiled down at Aramis. Aramis rolled his eyes and returned to staring at the ceiling.

“Talk me through fixing a musket wound, Aramis,” Porthos said quietly, moving his hand in small circles on Aramis' stomach.

“Pardon?” said Aramis, startled by this unexpected topic. Porthos just smiled.”Well you first must clean around the wound to see where the actual shot penetrated. Then clean the wound to get any dirt out. If the ball remains inside, one must remove it. After that, it's worth cleaning again. Then it's a simple matter of stitching the wound closed.”

“Why do you clean it so often?”

“Stops the wound festering,”

“Why must one remove the ball? Wouldn't it be better to wait and remove it later when the wound has healed?”

“They don't heal with the ball. Even if they did, you'd only have to re-open the wound to retrieve it or again, the wound would fester and they'd die.”

Porthos leaned down and kissed Aramis' forehead.

“I need you to do something for me and it's going to hurt, Aramis. Are you willing to try?” he asked. Aramis turned to look at him.

“What is it Porthos?”

“I need you to tell me you'll try, my love. It will hurt a lot but please do this for me,” Porthos said quietly, stilling his hand and stroking Aramis' flat belly with his thumb. Aramis gazed up at him in confusion.

“I'd do anything for you, Porthos,” he said in a whisper, bracing himself for the goodbye.

“I want you to talk me through what happened. Step by step, bit by bit. Exactly what happened, what you saw, what you felt. What you've felt since you've come home. What you dream about. What makes you cry. What makes you look at me like I'm trying to leave you,” Porthos said quietly, his eyes searching Aramis' face. Aramis opened his mouth to protest and Porthos shushed him gently.

Aramis reached his hand up and linked his fingers with those of Porthos, laying on his stomach.

“To remove the ball and clean the wound?” he asked quietly, correctly interpreting why Porthos had asked. Porthos nodded in reply. Aramis took a deep breath.


	7. Applying fresh stitches

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Porthos makes arrangements for Aramis to heal

Porthos stood at the window, watching the darkened street for Tréville. Anxiously, he kept glancing back at the bed where Aramis had finally fallen asleep. It had taken all day and almost all night to work through what happened. After several hours and many many tears Aramis had finally fallen asleep, utterly exhausted, in the early hours of the morning. Finally he saw the Captain arrive and crossed to the bed. He checked Aramis was still sleeping solidly and went to meet Tréville in the hallway.

“How is he, Porthos?”

“Better. Captain, he started off worse than we thought.”

“I thought it must have been for you to request to see me at such a late hour. Very well then, Porthos. Explain.”

Porthos quickly ran him through what happened to Aramis, filling in the gruesome details of what Aramis saw. Aramis had left them out when he told the Captain but Porthos needed Tréville to understand. He didn't leave anything out apart from how Aramis was feeling. Captain Tréville grew paler with every detail, clenching and unclenching his fists around his hat.

“Thank you for telling me, Porthos. It's important I know what happened to my men. What do you plan to do?”

“I want to take him out of the city. To breath clean air. What do you think?”

“Good idea,” replied Tréville. He watched as Porthos stiffened and listened at the door.

“He'll be awake shortly. I should get back,”

“Porthos...” began Captain Tréville. He paused. “It's good that he has you. I'll sign you off for an extra week of leave each. I understand the two of you are close, Porthos. It's... good that you can lean on one another. I will protect you both as much as I can just... don't give me too much to deny?” he finished, uncomfortably.

“I understand, Captain. Thank you,” Porthos said, filled with a rush of gratitude.

Captain Tréville nodded once and left, replacing his hat.

  


  


Aramis woke up and rubbed his eyes. He felt around for Porthos and his hand landed on a note. Closing one eye he tried to make out the words. He recognised the untidy scrawl belonging to Porthos immediately, though. As he squinted he heard the door open and there was Porthos.

“What does this say,” he asked groggily, waving it in Porthos' direction. Porthos laughed.

“It says I've gone out to collect a few bits and pieces and will be back soon.”

“Oh, OK,” said Aramis, nodding. “I'll wait here. I'm still so tired,”

“I've already been,” Porthos said, still chuckling. He placed his packages on the small kitchen table and removed his hat and gloves. He crossed to the bed and sat beside the sprawled out Aramis to remove his boots. “It's past noon already.”

“Oh,” said Aramis, smiling at him. “I'm glad I didn't have a chance to miss you, then.”

Porthos grinned and shrugged off his doublet. He leaned back across Aramis' legs and took his hand.

“How are you feeling, love?” he asked. “I want the truth.”

“Slightly useless,” answered Aramis after a pause. “I realise I'm not ready for duty yet. I'm still too jumpy. I don't know how I'll handle listening to all that sword fighting and the gunshots. I heard a door slam last night and thought the worse.” Porthos nodded in understanding. “I feel like an invalid, though. My head has healed. I'm going to take the stitches out in a minute. My heart is heal **ing**. I'm just so tired. I hate to see you cooped up like this but I'm selfish enough to not want you far from me.”

“And I'm not,” Porthos replied, smiling. “I'm right here. I do, however, have a plan.”

Aramis raised his eyebrows and listened quietly.

“At first light tomorrow, we're going to ride out of Paris and spend a week in the country. We can roam, we can ride, we can camp or stay at inns. I've bought enough food and wine to last us a week but we could also kill our own food. We will take the guns. We'll shoot, we'll spar. A week of fresh country air will do us both wonders,” Porthos explained.

“A week with nothing but you and the French countryside, Porthos? Are you flirting with me?” Aramis tugged his hand out of Porthos' grip and straightened his moustache, his eyes twinkling mischievously.

Porthos chuckled and leaned over Aramis to kiss him deeply. He rested his weight on one hand beside Aramis' head. The other, he used to lift Aramis' chin while he explored the line of Aramis' beard.

“You know you're gorgeous when you're like this,” said Porthos, against Aramis' throat. “Sprawled in bed, messy hair... You're not even wearing a shirt look,” he continued, running his tongue over that wonderful sensitive spot he found. Aramis squirmed.

“You are,” Aramis gasped. “It's not fair.”

“No,” murmured Porthos. “I don't suppose it is.” He gently held the skin where Aramis' jaw met his neck in his teeth. He felt Aramis go still in his arms apart from his increased breathing. Porthos waited, feeling Aramis get tenser and begin to squirm. Porthos waited and waited and was rewarded by a quiet mewling noise.

“Oh Porthos, please,” whimpered Aramis. Porthos bit down hard and suddenly. Aramis moaned low in his chest and arched his back to press closer to Porthos. Porthos let him go and chuckled again. Porthos shifted his weight so he could lay down next to Aramis but Aramis pushed against his chest.

“Oh no no no, my love,” he said. “No breeches or shirts allowed in this bed.” Porthos laughed his loud barking laugh that Aramis loved so much. He stood up properly and pulled his shirt off in one quick motion. Aramis licked his lips suggestively and motioned for Porthos to continue. Porthos reached down to begin unlacing his breeches and heard Aramis rise from the bed.

“Allow me,” Aramis murmured, kissing Porthos gently. Porthos smiled against his mouth and nodded. Porthos raised his hands to lay them lightly on Aramis' shoulder blades, flexing his fingers as Aramis' nimble fingers gently brushed across his groin.

Slowly, Porthos felt his breeches come loose and felt himself growing hard in his small-clothes. Aramis ran his hands over Porthos' buttocks agonisingly slowly as he pushed the garment over the muscled behind. Aramis sank to a crouch as he followed the breeches down Porthos' solid legs, his hands running over every line of muscle. Porthos groaned loudly, flexing his hands in mid-air, as Aramis' tousled hair brushed against his hardening cock. Aramis smirked to himself but concentrated on his task, helping Porthos step out of them before brushing them away across the chamber floor. Porthos bent slightly and tugged Aramis to his feet.

As soon as they stood eye-to-eye, they immediately kissed each other with a passion they had so far only touched upon. It was messy, it was bruising, the intensity of it was all consuming. Each man stood their ground, their tongues and teeth nipping and moving constantly. Porthos' hands moved restlessly across the lean muscles on Aramis' back. For his own part, Aramis' arms were hooked under Porthos', his hands coming up to rest on Porthos' shoulders, pressing their torsos together.

For long minutes, their mouths continued to battle hungrily. Each of them trying desperately to feel and taste every part of the other. Eventually Porthos growled into Aramis' mouth, using his broad hands to press all of Aramis against him. He was answered by a long moan from Aramis as their clothed groins pressed against each other. They began to move in union, rubbing against each other, their kiss growing more erratic as each man began to pant against one another. As they both began to sweat slightly, they simply pressed their foreheads together to brace themselves, moving urgently.

“Porthos,” moaned Aramis, breathlessly, as he dug his fingers into the muscled shoulders he was clinging to. Porthos could only growl in return, too far down the path to form words. Porthos felt himself tighten and suddenly gripped Aramis by the hair, pulled his head back and, guided by the faint red mark, clamped his mouth on Aramis neck, sucking sharply. Aramis' knees almost buckled but Porthos kept a tight grip on his waist with his free arm.

As their movements against each other also became erratic, Porthos knew he would not last much longer with the lithe form of his lover moving against him. He bit down, hard, and felt Aramis shudder once, twice against him, his yelp turning into a long low moan, the sexiest sound Porthos had ever heard. With that, Porthos let go of Aramis' neck and pressed hard against him once more and with a loud guttural groan, felt his own release seconds later.

Porthos finally released Aramis' hair and ducked his head to sweep his tongue over the reddened area on Aramis' throat, feeling Aramis twitch in his arms.

“Oh, Aramis,” he breathed, his voice thick with emotion.

“Porthos,” sighed Aramis, chuckling weakly.

After a few minutes of them simply leaning on one another, Porthos felt Aramis growing heavier and he leaned more and more. Porthos swept his arm under Aramis' legs and gently deposited him on the bed. 


	8. Applying fresh bandages

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aramis begins to regain his strength and they enjoy the new turn in their relationship.

Porthos walked on shaky legs to the kitchen and grabbed a cloth. He dabbed at the damp patch on his under-clothes and heard Aramis chuckling. 

“Oh just take them off. You won't need them until we set off in the morning,” he said, smiling. Porthos nodded and quickly unlaced them, letting them drop to the floor unselfconsciously. He was not surprised to see Aramis staring at him like a starving man presented with a roast pig. He grinned at Aramis but didn't say anything as he gently cleaned himself, shivering slightly, his nerves still on fire.

Aramis stared avidly, his mouth watering as his eyes followed the line from Porthos' hip down. He let his eyes roam freely, taking in the muscles of his arms, the dip of his waist, the beautiful V shape of his torso leading to those jaw dropping hips. As Porthos walked back to the bed Aramis dragged his eyes back up that delicious body to see Porthos looking quite amused. They'd seen each other naked before. Soldiers lived together, bathed together, travelled together. It was, however, new to be able to openly admire him. In his moments of mischief, Aramis had definitely looked at Porthos over the wash tub in ways he perhaps should not have. Now, however, he had an open invitation and he wasn't going to waste it.

Porthos leaned down and tugged Aramis' hand.

“Your turn, lover,” Porthos said, grinning wolfishly.

Aramis laughed and heaved himself to his feet with an effort. He laughed again as he, too, found his legs weak.

“See what you've done to me, Porthos?” he asked. Porthos simply sat down on the bed with his back against the wall and raked his eyes up and down Aramis' chest.

Aramis turned his back on Porthos to unlace his under-clothes and pushed them gently down over his hips. He heard Porthos hum in approval and felt his eyes on him. Aramis turned slowly back around, letting his shorts slip down. He smiled as he saw Porthos' eyes darken and his gaze intensify. Turning back round, he shimmied slightly so his shorts slipped down to the floor, he also took the opportunity to clean himself up. Tossing the cloth over the headboard and turning back to Porthos, he stepped out of his pooled clothes. He took the few steps back to Porthos, putting as much sway into his hips as possible.

Aramis stretched, arching his back and raising his arms high above his head.

“Mmmm,” murmured Porthos, “C'mere.”

Aramis crawled onto Porthos' lap, straddling his thighs and settling back. He ran his hands through Porthos' dark curls, moving his hands down to cradle his face and leant down to kiss him tenderly. Porthos lifted his hands and ran them down Aramis' back, settling them on his high tight buttocks. Aramis smiled and gazed at Porthos.

“I love you so much, Porthos,” he said quietly. “We should have done this years ago.”

Porthos grinned and squeezed Aramis' ass slightly.

“We have so much yet to do,” he murmured. Aramis laughed lightly.

“No, no. Not that. I mean **this.** Being **this.** Being what we're supposed to be. You feel that, Porthos? This is meant to be. Always has been.”

Porthos smiled and stroked his hands up and down on Aramis, nodding.

“Truly,” he replied simply.

Aramis smiled and traced the scar on Porthos' face with his fingertip. Porthos jerked his head to the side.

“Don't,” he muttered quietly.

“Why should I not? You spent three days tending to my head wound. You're still tending to my less visible wounds,” Aramis said quietly, kissing Porthos gently each time he paused. “I will bear scars from them all for the rest of my life. You know this,” Aramis said, kissing him deeply. He settled back on his heels, regarding Porthos steadily. “Do you think me ugly for them, Porthos?”

Porthos sat up, pulling away from the wall. He wrapped his arms around Aramis' waist, pulling their bodies together.

“How can you ask that?” he said, shocked. Aramis knew he was taking a risk with his next words.

“If you believe yours makes you so, why would you not think the same of mine? Clearly if you feel you should hide yours and pretend they aren't a part of you, I should do the same?”

“I-, That's not-” Porthos sighed heavily and rested his forehead on Aramis' shoulder. Aramis smiled and used his fingers to tilt his head back up. He pressed his lips to Porthos' scar, kissing him above and then below his eye.

Porthos exhaled deeply, and captured Aramis' mouth in a searing, bruising kiss. His arms tightened around Aramis and pulled him further up his legs until their naked hips met. Aramis let out a surprised squeak and gyrated teasingly on Porthos' lap. Porthos growled into his mouth and quickly flipped Aramis onto his back, following him down and stretching his thick body out across the top of Aramis' slim one.

Aramis bit Porthos' bottom lip and reversed their positions, turning Porthos onto his back. He again straddled Porthos' lap and, when Porthos made to sit back up, pressed his hands onto Porthos' shoulders.

“Nuh-uh. Stay,” he purred. Porthos raised his eyebrows and made to sit up again. Aramis pressed him down into the mattress a little harder. Porthos relaxed against the bed, watching Aramis curiously. Aramis leaned forward, a wicked gleam in his eye and whispered into Porthos' ear.

“Good boy.”

Porthos groaned and shifted his hips under Aramis.

“Now, now. **You** have been working so very hard to look after me, Porthos. It seems, however,” Aramis continued, sitting up and letting his hands roam across Porthos' chest in lazy waves. “that you have not been letting me actually have any fun.” He pursed his lips in a sexy pout that made Porthos' hips twitch again.

“What did you have in-” Porthos' question was stopped by a finger over his lips.

“Shh,” whispered Aramis, leaning down to kiss Porthos. As Porthos began to kiss him back, Aramis pulled away slightly. Porthos raised his head to follow, only to have Aramis sit back up. “You know I'm sure I said stay, my love,” Aramis scolded, laying his hands on Porthos' waist.

“Tease,” said Porthos quickly, smirking at Aramis. In reply, Aramis dug his nails into the soft flesh of Porthos' waist, causing the larger man to groan again.

“I also said, shush,” Aramis replied sternly. Porthos nodded his understanding and pressed his lips together. Aramis smiled his dazzlingly wide smile again and Porthos felt his heart leap into his throat.

“Now then,” Aramis pondered, “where was I?” He lowered his head back to Porthos and resumed placing gentle kisses on Porthos' scar. He kissed Porthos again, keeping his mouth too far from Porthos' to allow him to deepen the kiss without raising his head. Porthos groaned in frustration but resisted the urge to pursue Aramis' mouth.

Aramis smiled down at him and moved to inhale deeply, his mouth and nose pressed against Porthos' throat. He moved his mouth up to Porthos' ear and exhaled slowly, feeling Porthos shiver.

“Much better, my love,” he whispered. “You're learning.”

He continued his lazy exploration, kissing down the line of Porthos' throat, nuzzling his Adam's apple and pausing to kiss the hollow of his throat. As he moved along to kiss and nuzzle his collarbone, his let his hand wander across the smooth expanse of Porthos' stomach. He moved down to nuzzle against Porthos' nipple, letting his tongue flick out across the nub. He heard Porthos groan and was gratified to feel Porthos beginning to harden slightly. Smirking to himself, Aramis bit down gently. Porthos gasped and his hips gave an involuntary jerk. Aramis sat back upright and laid his hands flat on Porthos' stomach.

“Oh, Porthos. I told you not to move,” Aramis said, playfully disappointed.

“I couldn't help it,” Porthos protested.

Aramis dragged his nails across Porthos' stomach, leaving faint red trails. Porthos hissed in pain and surprise and looked up at Aramis' wicked expression.

“I also told you to shush. Twice. I do hope I don't need to tell you again, my love. I won't be so kind next time.”

Porthos raised his eyebrows at the word kind as his skin still tingled but nodded. Aramis' stern expression morphed back into his lazy smile and he dipped his head again. He took the same path, re-starting at Porthos' scar, moving down to his mouth, flicking his tongue across Porthos' lips, smirking as Porthos made no movement to chase his lips.

“Good boy,” he murmured. Aramis pounced on Porthos' lips, crushing them beneath his own. Porthos gasped in surprise and Aramis took the opportunity to explore his mouth with his tongue. Porthos' instincts were screaming at him to respond in kind, to pull Aramis into his arms. His skin was on fire. He could scarcely believe Aramis was getting him hard again so soon.

Aramis moaned into Porthos' mouth and his head swirled with arousal. Here was his strong, beautiful Porthos, placing himself in Aramis' hands. He plundered Porthos' mouth aggressively, exploring every part of him his tongue could reach. He felt a deep rumble of frustration vibrate through Porthos and just as suddenly as he'd started the kiss, he stopped. As he pulled away, he saw Porthos lift his head a fraction and immediately drop it back to the pillow. His own cock twitched at seeing Porthos' willing obedience.

Aramis resumed the path he'd previously taken, moving his lips and teeth up the line of Porthos' jaw and down his throat. As he moved his mouth back to Porthos' nipple, licking and suckling, Aramis lightly ran his fingers over the other, pinching gently.

He brought his other hand up and swapped the attentions, moving his mouth to the other nipple and resuming his increasingly firm pinching and sucking. Without warning he bit down on one and squeezed hard on the other. He was rewarded with a sharp hiss that melted into a deep frustrated groan. He felt Porthos' hands twist in the sheets without rising and smirked.

Aramis glanced up to see Porthos' jaw clenched and his eyes tightly closed. He was unbelievably sexy. Aramis felt heady with the control. He slowly shifted himself further down Porthos' body, stopping when their knees were level. He leaned down and started exploring Porthos' ribs and stomach, leaving feather light kisses wherever he went, his hands moving to Porthos' hips.

Porthos felt like he would burst. He couldn't remember even feeling arousal like this. His mind was spinning. He couldn't imagine handing up control to anyone but Aramis had just beaten his defences with a smile and a few kisses. He was fighting every instinct he had not to roll over on top of Aramis and fight back. He couldn't bear the thought of disappointing him, though. He was also curious to see where Aramis was going with this... Painfully curious. As Aramis shifted off his lap, he felt the cool air rush onto his cock and was taken aback at how he was semi-hard already. He had butterflies in his stomach and was trying hard to relax into Aramis' touch but, knowing Aramis, it was likely he was being purposefully kept off-guard.

Aramis ran his hands down the sides of Porthos' thighs and back up to his hips. As his mouth got lower, he realised Porthos' breathing was speeding up. He lifted his head and took plenty of time admiring Porthos' cock, letting his breath brush over him.

“Mmm. How beautiful you are, Porthos,” Aramis murmured, close enough that when he spoke, his beard brushed over Porthos' cock. Glancing up he saw colour rising to Porthos' cheeks. Aramis traced the lines of Porthos' hips, the lines that made his mouth water and put even his own self-control at risk.

“What would you like, Porthos?” he murmured, his mouth still tantalisingly close to Porthos' member. He glanced up and saw Porthos' lips pressed tightly together. “Good boy,” he purred again, slowly bringing his hands up either side and gently cradling Porthos' cock. He slowly began to move his hands, his own cock twitching as he watched Porthos grow and harden in his hands. Without warning, he ran his tongue along the length of Porthos' cock, smirking as it reached full hardness and Porthos groaned. Aramis glanced to the side and saw Porthos' knuckles turning white as he still managed to cling to the sheets and not raise his arms.

Aramis smirked and sat upright on Porthos' knees, pinning his legs to the bed. He felt Porthos flex his legs under his weight and was pleasantly surprised to see this elicit another groan and definite throb from Porthos.

He let his fingertips roam across Porthos' chest, pausing to lay his palm flat across Porthos' heart, feeling it hammer against his hand. He resumed trailing his fingers across the smooth expanse of skin, this time letting his nails dig in slightly. He felt his own cock harden slightly further as he watched red lines appear, criss-crossing each other like a street map. He let his nails drag deeper, the red lines becoming gradually raised and more vivid, his fingers roaming further up. Soon the pattern of angry red lines also covered Porthos' collarbones and his throat.

Moving lower, he extended his pattern to cover the softer skin of his lover's stomach. This brought a constant stream of hisses and growls from the compliant Porthos. Each noise only spurred Aramis on until his entire canvas from jaw to hip was covered in tender, red, raised lines.

Stretching himself out, Aramis moved to whisper in Porthos' ear.

“You're being so good, my love,” he murmured. “I think you deserve a reward. Do you still remember the rules? No talking. No moving. None. You agree to this, Porthos? If you break these rules I'll be very upset,” he continued softly, raking his nails harder than before down Porthos' sides to make his point. Porthos hissed again and nodded, his eyes still closed. Aramis gently traced the raised red lines with his fingertips as he slowly moved down to settle himself on Porthos' ankles.

He watched Porthos' face carefully as he drew his nails closer and closer to Porthos' cock. He smiled, slightly surprised but incredibly aroused by just how hard his painful attentions had made his lover. He gently laid his nails on Porthos' cock and chuckled darkly as Porthos tensed.

He removed his nails and gently circled the base of Porthos' cock with his long nimble fingers, watching Porthos' face as he groaned long and low. He gently moved his hand up and down Porthos' length, watching Porthos for any sign of movement. His heart swelled with pride as Porthos remained still under his hands. He lowered his head and flicked his tongue over Porthos' tip before lowering his mouth over the head and slowly lowering his mouth along his length.

Porthos groaned, feeling utterly helpless, not for the first time in his life. This time, however, he felt joyous at the prospect, knowing it was his Aramis with so much control. His chest, his sides, his stomach, his throat... His entire front was on fire, tingling with the reminders of Aramis' nails. He never knew he could respond like this to what was definitely painful yet somehow loving. All confused thoughts were thrown from his mind as Aramis' hot, wet mouth consumed him.

“Mmmm,” murmured Aramis around Porthos' cock, sending the vibration up and down Porthos. His hands came up off the sheets and helplessly fluttered at his sides, before he remembered himself and quickly gripped the sheets again.

“Careful now, my love,” murmured Aramis, who had noticed the movement. Aramis paused, waiting for Porthos to regain control before lowering his mouth over him again. This was new to Aramis but he knew Porthos enough to read him like a book. He also had the benefit of knowing what felt good to him and decided to trust his instincts.

Porthos was thick, it stretched Aramis' lips to encircle him. Aramis knew he would not be able to take all of him without practice and he moaned softly around him to think of enjoying that practice. He encircled the base of Porthos' cock with one hand and moved his hand and mouth in unison, gradually building up a slow rhythm.

Aramis flicked his eyes to the side to check on Porthos' hands and was immensely proud to see them still in place. He gradually increased his pace, bobbing his head faster, dragging his tongue along the thick vein. As he heard Porthos' breathing become erratic, he removed his mouth but continued his hand's movements, speeding up slightly.

“You're so fucking sexy, Porthos,” Aramis said quietly. Porthos groaned at the unexpected profanity, his stomach tightening as Aramis' hand continued to keep up its swift rhythm. Porthos managed to force his eyes open to see Aramis gazing at him with such a devilish look in his eye that it made Porthos nervous and yet turned him on all the more.

“You **do** know that I count cumming as moving, don't you?” Aramis said mischievously.

Porthos groaned helplessly and nodded his understanding. He watched Aramis, captivated, as he lowered his mouth back to Porthos' cock and wrapped his smirking lips around the head. He came incredibly close to bucking his hips as Aramis began to swirl his tongue in circles around the sensitive tip of his cock while his hand continued its movement, again increasing his tempo. He closed his eyes tightly and found himself intoxicated by the idea that even his own release was forbidden. He was taken by surprise at how suddenly he found himself close to release.

His resistance was ebbed away further when Aramis' other hand moved up to gently caress his sack, rolling each testicle in his hand, massaging them with his thumbs. Porthos was growling almost constantly now, feeling himself slowly losing control. Aramis suddenly lowered his mouth onto Porthos' cock, the back of his mouth brushing the tip of Porthos cock. Aramis moved his mouth back up and resumed his further pattern and Porthos couldn't resist bucking his hips into the air.

Aramis immediately sat upright and dragged his nails down each of Porthos' inner thighs very hard, breaking the skin and making Porthos bellow in shock and writhe under Aramis. Aramis flattened himself out and lay heavily on Porthos, his weight pressing both of their cocks together between their stomachs.

“Shh, shh,” he crooned into Porthos' ear, stroking the dark curls with one hand while cradling his jaw with the other. “Shh. There, there. You were warned, weren't you?”

Porthos opened his eyes and gazed into Aramis'. Aramis looked resigned. Porthos nodded quickly, feeling an overwhelming sense of guilt.

For Aramis, the look of devotion and contrition on Porthos' face was simply an aphrodisiac. He couldn't help but push a little further.

“Why, Porthos? Why make me hurt you? Maybe you **want** me to hurt you? Is that it?” Aramis purred into his ear, pressing his fingernails against Porthos' cheek and tugging his hair slightly. Porthos groaned and a look of pleading came into his eyes.

“You aren't going to answer me, Porthos? That's not very nice of you. Don't ignore me while I'm being so nice to you,” Aramis pouted, loving the indecision and confusion in his lover's eyes. “Oh that's right,” he continued. “You can't answer, can you? You aren't **allowed** to!” he exclaimed in mock surprise. Porthos stared at him, his eyes betraying his helplessness. Aramis folded his hands on Porthos' warm chest, his stomach tightening at the feel of the raised red lines under his hands.

“Although, you did shout at me,” pondered Aramis, laying his chin on his hands. “It wasn't words but I really think it counted as speech. What do you think?” Aramis smirked at the silent Porthos. He sighed and sat up on Porthos' thighs. He watched Porthos lick his lips as Aramis' own hardened cock was exposed to Porthos' view.

“Oh now, really, my love. You think that's something you deserve?” Aramis asked, taking himself in his hand and stroking himself slowly. A look of desperate pleading was written across Porthos' face. Aramis suddenly scraped his nails, hard and fast, down Porthos' front, from his collarbones to his hips, watching with sadistic glee as Porthos snarled with the pain but, obediently, did not move. Aramis licked his lips as he saw these new lines rapidly raise into 8 clear, distinct paths, blood rushing to the surface and beading in two or three places where the skin finally broke under the onslaught.

“Muuuch better, my good boy,” Aramis purred. He moved back to his seat on Porthos' ankles, and took Porthos' member in his hand again. He squeezed, warningly, waiting until Porthos was looking him in the eye. “Last chance, my boy. Disappoint me again and I won't grant you release,” he said sternly. Porthos nodded earnestly, consumed with an overwhelming desire to make his Aramis proud. Porthos was also conscious of his increasingly painful arousal, which was clouding his thoughts.

Aramis lowered his head and ran his tongue along the red welt his nails had left on Porthos' inner thigh. Porthos shivered at the touch, his skin unbelievably sensitive. Aramis returned his head to Porthos' cock, licking and kissing along its length before once again taking Porthos into his mouth. Sensing how increasingly desperate Porthos was becoming, Aramis quickly increased the speed of his hand and mouth until he heard Porthos panting above him.

He felt, more than heard, Porthos growling deep in his chest. He rested his free hand on Porthos' stomach and felt how taut all the muscles were, how hard Porthos was trying to stop himself. He lifted his mouth off Porthos just long to murmur, “cum for me, Porthos,” before returning his mouth to Porthos' member, again letting the tip brush the back of his mouth. 

Porthos couldn't stop himself from roaring as he felt himself release into Aramis' hot, wet mouth. He saw lights dancing behind his closed eyelids as he felt release up and down into all corners of his body, from his fingertips to his toes. Every line Aramis' nails had left were singing, his hips jerking uncontrollably and he felt himself utterly let go and give himself truly to Aramis.

Aramis swallowed all that Porthos had to give, gently massaging Porthos' softening cock with his tongue until he felt Porthos' hips sag against the bed. He gently lifted his mouth off, licking the sensitive tip playfully and smiling as Porthos jerked in surprise. He lovingly laid Porthos' softened cock gently against his thigh and stretched himself out on his back against Porthos' side. He tugged Porthos' opposite arm until Porthos obediently followed and rolled over onto his side, his head instinctively nuzzling under Aramis' jaw. 

Aramis wrapped his arm around Porthos' shoulders and rubbed his back gently. He rested his free arm under his own head, relaxing contentedly. As he felt Porthos' breathing return to something closer to normal, he ruffled the black curls.

“Porthos?” he asked softly.

“Mmm?” murmured Porthos.

“Are you OK, my love?”

Porthos chuckled in reply and nodded emphatically.

“Mhmm,” he rumbled against Aramis' neck, the sound thick with sincerity. Aramis laughed, and pressed a kiss to the dark curls. After a couple of minutes, Porthos' hand started wandering on Aramis' stomach. He looked up at Aramis questioningly who nodded. Aramis' cock twitched at the silent request. Porthos trailed his hand lower, exploring the line of Aramis' hips and thighs. Aramis spread his legs slightly and Porthos took the hint. He gently wrapped his hand around Aramis and both men's eyes were drawn to the sight.

Aramis was not as thick as Porthos but he was longer. Even with Porthos' broad hands, the pale skin could be seen either side of the darker skin on Porthos' hand. Porthos slowly started to move his hand up and down the length of Aramis, watching, entranced. Aramis, however, let his head drop back onto his arm and sighed happily. Porthos smiled. Unlike Aramis, this was not new for him. 

He kept his movements slow and made sure to cover Aramis' entire length with each movement. Aramis hummed his approval quietly and his nails began trailing very lightly across Porthos' back. Porthos began to run his thumb over the exposed, sensitive tip on each stroke and Aramis sighed again, letting his eyes drift closed.

Porthos smiled and pressed himself closer to Aramis' side, focussing himself on worshipping Aramis' beautiful cock. Gradually, Porthos built the tempo, letting his wrist twist slightly on each stroke. Aramis moaned softly and continued to lightly scratch his nails across Porthos' smooth back. Porthos continued his rhythmic movements, happy to lavish attention on Aramis. Aramis moaned again and arched his hips into Porthos' hand. Porthos sped up his motions slightly, keeping the rhythm consistent. He moved his head slightly to listen to Aramis' heart and smiled as he felt him gasp with the change in tempo.

Porthos felt Aramis' trailing fingers starting to press slightly harder on his back. They certainly weren't painful but were definitely nails, not fingertips. He lifted his head, and began to move lower but Aramis wasn't willing to let him move. He tugged gently on Porthos' hair, guiding him back to his shoulder. Porthos settled back down and ratcheted the tempo up again. Aramis moaned contentedly, again, kissing Porthos' head.

As Porthos' relentless motions continued to increase speed, Aramis dug his nails into the back of Porthos' neck. Porthos obediently sped up even more and growled as Aramis began to scrape his nails across Porthos' back restlessly. As he heard Aramis moan louder still, Porthos felt Aramis dig his nails in to the back of his neck again. Aramis pressed Porthos' head hard against his chest and Porthos hissed in pain as he felt the skin break under the pressure of Aramis' nails. Aramis arched his hips into Porthos' grasp once more and reached his own release, moaning with great satisfaction.

After a few long moments, Aramis finally relaxed his grip on Porthos' neck and felt Porthos grunt against his chest. Opening his eyes, he glanced down to see blood gathering quickly in the crescent shaped cuts his fingers had left. He stroked his thumb over them and listened to Porthos hiss slightly.

Lifting his head, Aramis reached up to get the cloth he'd dropped there earlier. Porthos looked up and realised what he was doing. Porthos took the cloth from Aramis who watched him curiously. Porthos swiped the cloth over Aramis' flat, pale stomach and then his own hand. Gently he moved the cloth over Aramis' slowly softening cock, taking care not to rub the rough material across Aramis' sensitive skin. Instead he gently stroked up Aramis' length, squeezing the last few drops out and gently swiped his thumb over to collect the moisture. Aramis murmured quietly and watched Porthos with a content smile. Porthos wiped the last few stray drops from Aramis' hips and tossed the cloth onto the floor.

Porthos turned his face up to Aramis. Aramis kissed him sweetly, caressing his lips against Porthos'. Breaking free, he gently nudged Porthos onto his back. Aramis sat up and let out a low whistle, seeing the angry red criss-crossing lines. He used his fingers to touch on the few spots of blood that had risen. Porthos chuckled weakly and couldn't help himself from flinching, especially when Aramis licked the tiny spots off his fingers.

“Are you OK?” asked Aramis, beaming down at him. Porthos nodded. Aramis smiled. “How are you feeling?”

“Hm,” responded Porthos, screwing his face up as he tried to put his feelings into words. Aramis waited patiently, slowly roaming his hands over Porthos' stomach soothingly.

“Surprised? Exhausted. Sore. In a reverie. Loved. Sore. Very very close to you. Peaceful. Oh and sore!” Porthos answered. Aramis beamed down at him. Porthos tugged him gently down and wrapped his arms around Aramis. Aramis settled in against Porthos' side and draped an arm over his stomach. They lay together in content silence for several long minutes before each of them fell asleep.

 


	9. The healing begins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The pair settle into their relationship and prepare to depart Paris

Porthos woke a short time later with a start. He found Aramis tightly curled up, out of contact with Porthos' side. He was mumbling and fidgeting in his sleep. Porthos turned onto his side and tugged Aramis backwards until their bodies were tightly pressed together. He gently stroked Aramis' hair back from his face and leaned down to whisper in his ear.

“Aramis. It's me. Come back to me, lover,” he whispered.

“Porthos,?” whispered Aramis, uncertainly. He woke slowly, turning his head to see Porthos hovering over him. “I'm sorry,” he muttered.

“Should I apologise every time you stitch my wounds?” Porthos asked gently, reminding them both of Aramis' point earlier about the scar on Porthos' face. Aramis smiled, accepting his words and turned his head further so he could reach up and kiss Porthos. Porthos stroked Aramis' stomach, which chose that moment to give a loud hungry rumble. They laughed in unison and both made to get up.

Making their way to the kitchen, they both shivered. Laughing, Aramis went in search of some form of clothing. Porthos went to answer nature's call and by the time he'd returned, Aramis had a shirt and clean under-clothes on. They swapped tasks and as Aramis returned, Porthos was lacing his shorts.

“This is my only other clean pair so behave yourself,” he said, glancing up at Aramis through his lashes. Aramis sauntered over and ran his hand over Porthos' chest. Most of the lines had paled but there were several forming clear bruises. There were 6 distinct vertical lines that had already raised purple spotted lined bruises. Aramis laid his fingers on them and was amused to note his left hand had definitely pressed harder. There was clearly more finesse on the right, his sword-hand. He admired his own pattern, smiling each time he noticed a new bruise or places where he'd broken the skin without realising. Porthos chuckled and kissed Aramis hungrily, backing him up against the table and wrapping Aramis' shirt in his hand.

Aramis returned his kiss with great passion, seeing the evidence of their love doing nothing to calm his ardour. Porthos' stomach rumbled and Aramis laughed against his mouth.

They moved around the kitchen together, flowing in unison. They had eaten together so often in Aramis' quarters that Porthos knew where everything was. Preparing food was always a joint activity so they knew where each was going to go, what each would do. They worked together seamlessly, only now there was the occasional brush of a hand, the accidental rubbing of a leg. They soon found enough meats and cheese to put together a decent platter of food. Aramis smiled at the spread and poured them each a glass of wine. Porthos paused to put his shirt on and Aramis smirked. Porthos raised his eyebrows.

“You can cover up all you like. I know they're there,” he said, passing a glass to Porthos and taking a seat. He laughed kindly as colour rose in Porthos' cheeks.

“Well, I wouldn't be so smug, Aramis,” replied Porthos, pausing to take a long drink of wine. “You know what they say about payback.”

 

 

As they ate, they chatted easily, just like they always had. They talked about places they'd like to go over the next week, inns they could stop in, places to camp. After eating, they moved to their usual chairs by the fire and Aramis asked why they'd been given so long off. Porthos relayed his conversation with the Captain in the early hours. Aramis looked into the fire thoughtfully.

“Do you think he knows about us?” he asked quietly.

“Yes,” Porthos replied simply. Aramis looked sideways at him.

“You don't seem concerned.”

“Nor did the Captain. He just told me he was glad we had each other and to be careful. Oh and not to give him too much to deny.”

Aramis continued to look at Porthos.

“What do you think that meant?”

“I reckon it just means we aren't supposed to flaunt it. But we wouldn't anyway.”

“No, I suppose not,” Aramis replied, stretching his long legs in front of him. They each lapsed into their own thoughts, a comfortable silence falling between them. 

Aramis noticed the sky beginning to darken and glanced at Porthos to see his head had fallen forwards and he was dozing in his chair. Aramis remembered that Porthos had been up for nearly three days with only small naps in between. He rose quietly, taking the cup from Porthos' hand and taking them to the kitchen.

He came back and wrapped his arms around Porthos' shoulders. Porthos grunted awake.

“It's bedtime, my love,” Aramis said quietly, leaning his chin on Porthos' shoulder. It was a testament to how tired Porthos was that he simply nodded. Aramis walked to his front and took him by the hand. Porthos stood and stretched, stifling a yawn. Aramis lifted Porthos' shirt up and over his head while he was still stretching. Aramis pulled his own shirt off and began unlacing Porthos' shorts. He pushed them down over Porthos' hips without fanfare or comment. Porthos kissed him sleepily and Aramis nudged him towards the bed. Porthos clambered into bed against the wall and held out his arms to Aramis.

“If we're leaving at first light I should get us packed, shouldn't I?”

“We are,” replied Porthos sleepily. “That's where I was all morning. I have enough provisions to last us 3 days, the rest we can buy or hunt for while we're travelling. I've borrowed a canvas from the regiment, which Serge will make sure is packed up with the horses. He'll also include some bedding since the snow has only just melted. Jacques will have them ready for us at dawn. All we have to pack are clothes and really, how vital are they?” Porthos said, finishing with a jaw-cracking yawn.

“You're good to me, Porthos,” murmured Aramis. Within minutes he slipped into bed beside Porthos, equally nude. Aramis quickly snuggled into Aramis, fitting together as they always did, as naturally as breathing. Within minutes, Aramis felt Porthos fall asleep, his familiar snoring lulling Aramis into his first dreamless sleep since Savoy.

 

 

Aramis woke, with the noise of people waking in the street. Peering blearily at the window he judged they didn't have long before the sun rose. He glanced behind him at where Porthos lay on his stomach, his face buried in the pillow, his arm slung heavily over Aramis' waist. Aramis smiled to himself and eased out from under the heavy arm, taking care not to wake Porthos. He paused to gaze lovingly at Porthos. He could scarcely believe he'd been so lucky as to be gifted this amazing man. He shook his head with a smile and moved around his chambers, tidying things away. He moved to the kitchen and tidied away their dishes and empty bottles. He picked up the clothes from around the room and quickly packed his bag. He dressed quickly. Glancing out the window again, he judged they had less than an hour before they needed to be at the garrison. 

He smiled and sat on the bed next to Porthos' sleeping form. He felt a twinge of guilt at the three definite cuts on the back of Porthos' neck. They had already formed small scabs. Aramis chuckled to himself, remembering how they got there. He stroked his fingers across the slightly scabbed marks and laughed out loud as Porthos grunted into the pillow. Porthos lifted his head and stared around blearily. His eyes landed on Aramis and he looked up at him confused.

“'ello,” he muttered, shutting one eye so he could focus.

“Good morning,” replied Aramis, beaming down at him.

“You sure?” groaned Porthos, rolling onto his back.

“It's day one of our holiday, remember,” said Aramis, reaching a hand out to stroke Porthos' chest. Even in the pre-dawn gloom, Aramis could make out distinct lines that formed dark purple bruises, the vertical lines being the clearest. He smiled watching Porthos quickly wake up as he remembered they were travelling today. “I'm all packed. We just need to stop at your quarters in the garrison to collect your clothes and we can leave.”

Porthos heaved himself to a sitting position.

“How is it you look just as sexy with clothes on as you do without?” he asked gruffly. Aramis laughed and stood up to fetch some drinking water. Returning, he found Porthos sat on the bed pulling his shorts and breeches on. Aramis bit his lip to see the two deep, vibrant purple lines on his inner thighs. Porthos felt Aramis' eyes and obligingly widened his legs for Aramis' examination. Aramis handed Porthos the glass of water and knelt at Porthos' feet. He touched his fingertips to the line and smiled. He looked up at Porthos, a question in his eyes.

“A bit sore to touch but not too bad,” Porthos answered. Aramis grinned and pressed his fingers down, chuckling as Porthos winced. 

“Just think of all that riding you have to do, Porthos,” he said mischievously. Aramis stood and fetched Porthos' boots and shirt. While Porthos pulled on his boots, Aramis pulled his long coat on and wound his sash round his waist. Porthos gathered up their weapons from where they hung on the wall and laid them on the table. They armed themselves quickly, years of practice making the movements automatic. Porthos tightened his bandanna over his curls and pulled his hat on. He gathered up the packages they were taking as Aramis finished clipping his arquebus to its strap. Putting his own hat on, Aramis smiled at his lover and gestured to the door.

They strode in comfortable silence through the quiet streets to Porthos' smaller quarters. As they were actually part of the barracks, they were much smaller than Aramis', only having a single bed in them, but Porthos had taken much more care in decorating them. He had two mismatched chairs by his fireplace but both were padded with ornate arms. He'd obtained dark cloth to hang at the single window. It was also much tidier than Aramis'. Where Aramis tended to just tidy occasionally, Porthos kept everything in his home neat and orderly at all times. As such it took him mere minutes to gather what few belongings he'd need to take with them.

Entering the yard, the pair were surprised to see Captain Tréville waiting for them.

Captain,” they said in unison, nodding at him.

“Porthos. Aramis. How are you?” he asked, directing his question at the latter.

“Better Captain. I appreciate the leave. I'm still... Well. I'm just not quite ready to come back. I will be, though,” he finished quietly, looking around the nearly empty yard. Captain Tréville merely nodded. The pair walked to their prepared horses and began examining what was already there. 

“Was there something else, Captain?” asked Porthos, realising Tréville had followed them across the yard.

“No. I'm just meeting someone here. Someone who might be suitable for the regiment, actually.”

“Anyone we know?” asked Aramis curiously, securing their packages to the horses.

“No. A man from Pinon,” Tréville answered, distracted. “You look better, Aramis. The time away will do you good.”

Aramis nodded.

“Captain,” he said quietly, stroking his horse's nose. “The other men... They don't think- They understand that I-”

“Nobody thinks any less of you, Aramis,” said Tréville, cutting Aramis off. “They want to help in any way they can. I have men coming to me daily asking how you are. I've told them all you're going away and will return to duty when you're fit. I've simply told them you're injured.”

Porthos nodded at Captain Tréville over Aramis' shoulder and loaded his two pistols into the saddle holsters. 

“Shall we then, my friend?” he asked. Aramis nodded and unclipped his arquebus. Settling himself into the saddle, Aramis clipped it into place and tipped his hat to Captain Tréville. Porthos did the same and they trotted out the yard.


	10. Examining the damage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Musketeers start to work on Aramis' fitness for duty.

As soon as they left the stones and cobbles of Paris, both men felt themselves relax, chatting familiarly. They constantly shared jokes, teasing, although this time they found themselves riding closer, their knees touching now and again. Aramis kept chuckling randomly and asking how Porthos' thighs were feeling. Porthos answered honestly each time and admitted they were hurting more and more. As the morning wore on, the teasing grew increasingly pointed. Aramis made his pleasure at knowing Porthos was uncomfortable because of him well known. Porthos, for his part, frequently reminded Aramis that payback was coming. They each fell silent late morning and began simply smirking at each other and silently flirting.

They led their horses off the path and down to a large, wide clearing by a stream they'd often visited when leaving the city. Jumping down they looped each of their mounts reins over a low branch, allowing them to drink. Aramis stretched and twisted his hips to ease the strain.

“We've been so idle, Porthos. My body is protesting.” Aramis turned to see Porthos taking his hat off and resting it on a branch. Porthos drew his sword slowly so Aramis could see what he was doing.

“Porthos?” he asked uncertainly.

“This isn't just a holiday and you know it. This was to get you fighting fit again. You said you couldn't fight until you were used to the noise. It's why we brought extra powder and wadding for shooting. We will train every day we're out here. I won't have the Captain thinking all we did was read poetry to each other,” Porthos explained, grinning.

Aramis looked about nervously.

“I don't know if I'm ready for this, Porthos.”

“How do you intend to find out?” countered Porthos.

Aramis nodded and drew his sword, hesitantly. If there was anyone in the world he was safe with, it was Porthos.

Porthos began slowly, not attacking with his usual ferocity. Aramis was much much more guarded than usual, holding his free arm awkwardly and not with his usual flourish. It was more common to see Aramis fighting with his free hand on his hip, showing off his perfect form. As Porthos moved he realised Aramis was refusing to meet any attacks, choosing to dodge instead. He finally managed to clash his sword against Aramis' and Aramis dropped his sword almost instantly. He fell to his knees. Porthos was on the floor at his side immediately. He draped his arm over Aramis' shoulders and nodded to himself.

“The noise- I couldn't- I listened-” gasped Aramis.

“Shh, shh. I know. I understand. We needed to see. You understand why?” asked Porthos, rubbing Aramis' back. Aramis nodded.

“I'm sorry. I couldn't- As soon as I heard it... I was there. Listening. I couldn't get to my feet. I heard them, Porthos,” Aramis said, tears creeping into his eyes. Porthos nodded and stood, tugging Aramis with him.

“Let's eat, Aramis. We'll decide what to do,” said Porthos kindly. Aramis sighed and placed his hat beside Porthos'. The two of them sat by the river to eat in silence. Porthos watched Aramis constantly.

“What if I never recover, Porthos?” he asked after they'd finished. Porthos respected him too much to give platitudes.

“I don't know, Aramis,” he answered quietly. “If you don't recover, we will find something else you're good at and you will make a living doing that.”

“Is there much cause for male courtesans?” Aramis asked bitterly. Porthos gently hit him on the back of the head.

“You didn't let me finish,” he scolded. Aramis waved him on to continue. “I think you'll be fine, though. I mean that.”

“It hurts, Porthos,” he muttered plaintively. Porthos sighed and reached around to prod the nearly healed cut on Aramis' head.

“That hurt?”

“It did.”

“And it made you woozy. Unable to stand, unable to fight?” pressed Porthos. Aramis nodded silently. “And it passed? It's healing. It doesn't stop you fighting now, does it?” Porthos paused. Aramis nodded, glumly. “Nor will this,” he finished.

Aramis took a deep breath and looked back up at Porthos.

“Shall we try again?” Aramis asked nervously. Porthos grinned and nodded.

The two of them rose and drew their swords. They began circling each other, going back to the basics of footwork.

“What is it specifically that bothers you, Aramis?” Porthos asked, shifting his weight to mirror Aramis.

“I'm not sure,” Aramis answered, stalking Porthos.

“Being attacked?” Porthos wondered, gesturing at Aramis with his sword, staying out of reach.

“No,” answered Aramis thoughtfully. “That doesn't seem to bother me. The noise upsets me. That's what I hear in the night.”

Porthos nodded, continuing to mirror Aramis, watching his movements become more sinuous as he relaxed into it.

“Feeling better in your hand?” he asked, watching Aramis' ease and grace emerge. Aramis inclined his head, his expression turning more roguish. “Are you actually going to do anything with it or just dance with me all day,” Porthos taunted.

Aramis began to circle closer to Porthos, using his speed and agility to force the larger man to move quicker. Aramis started to move closer, the smiles fading from each of their faces as the footwork got quicker, the movements were closer. Still, neither man lunged. They simply continued to repeat their movements.

Finally Aramis lunged. Porthos saw it in his eyes a split second before he moved and hopped backwards out of reach. Sniggering, he taunted Aramis with his free hand, beckoning him forwards.

Aramis narrowed his eyes and feinted to the left, shifting his weight and coming in to his right instead. Porthos, again, jumped back but this time had to use his sword to knock Aramis' stroke harmlessly by. Both men paused as the steel rang quietly. Porthos raised his eyebrows and Aramis shrugged.

Porthos grinned and resumed their dance, batting a few more of Aramis' strikes away. Aramis finally went for an overhead strike, causing Porthos to raise his sword. As the two blades clashed, the noise rang out, loudly this time. Porthos looked up into Aramis' eyes and saw a flash of his normal triumphant swagger but also a flicker of slight uncertainty.

“OK, love?” Porthos asked quietly. Aramis nodded. “Enough?” Aramis nodded again. Porthos grinned broadly and sheathed his sword, scratching his forehead through his bandanna. He knew there was a long way to go but he was pleased to see Aramis so willing to work at it. He wanted to get somewhere to camp tonight so they could see where Aramis was with guns.

Aramis watched Porthos repacking what little they had removed for lunch and tending to the horses. He couldn't help being touched by how much Porthos was helping him. Aramis  was struggling to come to terms with his own mood swings. In his private moments with Porthos he felt a new lease of life and a sense of peace he had never ever known. In his everyday moments he was feeling like himself again. When he was faced with combat, though, he was feeling terrified and vulnerable. Then after failure he was feeling angry and disappointed. Then Porthos would smile at him and he felt like himself again. He was finding it hard to focus. Taking the reins of his horse from Porthos, however, he felt like each moment with Porthos was like a stitch, pulling him back together.


	11. Closing the wound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Musketeers set up camp for the night and Porthos gets his payback

They rode for several more hours, leaving the road mid-afternoon. As they felt the temperature drop and the sky begin to grow dull, they quickly found a stream. Porthos suggested he search for wood for a fire while Aramis tended to the horses. The trees were thicker here and Aramis frowned.

“You'll hear me, Aramis,” Porthos said gently, giving a low two note whistle. Aramis repeated the whistle and nodded, turning to the horses.

Periodically while Aramis moved around seeing to the horses for the night and clearing an area for their tent, the two men bounced the whistle back and forth. Aramis found it a comfort to be able to work out where Porthos was at all times.

Porthos returned just as Aramis was unrolling the blankets they'd brought and he built the fire quickly while Aramis hung his coat on a tree and sat down, laying his sword belt beside him.

“You know what you'd normally be doing about now, Aramis?” asked Porthos, standing up and taking his doublet off. Aramis looked up at him. Porthos chuckled and retrieved their pistols and Aramis' arqubus from the horses. He tossed Aramis' pistol and a cloth into his lap. Porthos sat down beside Aramis, their knees touching and began to clean own two pistols. Aramis nodded and began to do the same, his hands finding strength in the familiar movements. Aramis quickly finished, his pistol gleaming. Porthos was pleased to notice he picked up his arqubus and began tending to it without prompting.

By the time they'd both finished, the sky was darkening. Porthos knew they wouldn't get any shooting practice in tonight. Aramis got up to find some food in their bags while Porthos went to find more wood for the fire. He whistled to Aramis who turned. Porthos pointed at the low fire and then to the trees. Aramis nodded. While Porthos was gone, they continued their whistling pattern while Aramis pulled some modest rations together to make a meal.

Porthos strode back into the small clearing and poked at the fire, adding small amounts until the flame rose again and flickered happily. They ate in a comfortable silence, the sky reaching full darkness. As they finished, Porthos rose to clean and repack the dishes straight away. Aramis smiled at the tidying instinct Porthos was clearly comfortable enough to stop hiding. Rejoining Aramis, Porthos sat down close to him, their knees touching.

“In the morning, we'll duel again and then some shooting practice, OK?” Porthos asked. When Aramis didn't answer, Porthos continued.

“You are mine, Aramis. I won't let anything happen to you and that **includes** letting you shut yourself away. I will support you, Aramis. I will not carry you,” Porthos explained firmly. “Understand?”

Aramis nodded silently, feeling slightly ashamed. Porthos kissed him with a smile.

“No need for that, Aramis. It's important that you tell me what's going on in your head so I can help you correct it,” Porthos said kindly, kissing him lightly again. He wrapped his arm around the slighter man's shoulders and pulled him close.

After a few quiet minutes, Aramis walked his fingers up Porthos' thigh and dipped to press against the bruised line he knew lay there. An answering grunt let him know he'd found the right spot. He moved his hand upwards and under Porthos' shirt and brushed his nails suggestively across Porthos' stomach.

Aramis felt his head yanked backwards by the hair all of a sudden. Porthos whispered gruffly in his ear.

“Payback time, lover,”

Aramis gasped in surprise and felt himself shiver. Porthos growled and nuzzled into Aramis' neck, biting harshly along the line of his jaw, digging his teeth in especially at that certain spot. In less than a minute he found Aramis squirming in his grasp. Porthos chuckled darkly into Aramis' ear.

“I believe you have left me with at least eight distinct bruises, Aramis,” he whispered menacingly. “I think that entitles me to eight on you.”

Aramis listened to the adrenaline surging through his veins and twisted to get away from Porthos but found him unwilling to let go. Aramis dug his fingers hard into Porthos' inner thigh and listened with satisfaction as Porthos hissed at him. Porthos half-rose from where he was seated and used his body weight to push Aramis onto his back. Aramis squirmed and finally managed to pull his hair loose and scrambled backwards. Porthos rested on his knees and looked at Aramis hungrily. Aramis lay on his back, propped up on his elbows, panting slightly.

They regarded each other for a few seconds, neither wanting to make the first move. Porthos continued to stare at Aramis, looking at him like prey. Aramis knew that look. As soon as he moved, Porthos would pounce on him. Aramis found he very much wanted to be pounced on. A memory of begging Porthos to bite him flashed by his eyes. He found, however, the idea of being so willing didn't arouse him. While he had thoroughly enjoyed having Porthos so pliant and submissive, he didn't see it working the other way around. He smirked at Porthos. If Porthos wanted him, he'd have to take him.

Porthos' own thoughts mirrored those of Aramis. He knew Aramis was too flamboyant and cocksure to choose to give himself up. He, too, remembered that moment in the kitchen. Aramis whimpering. Aramis shuddering. Aramis begging. He also remembered how much it had turned Aramis on to be put into that position. While he was thinking about it, he didn't think he much liked the idea of Aramis laying down willingly. He'd much prefer to take him for his own instead.

After a few long seconds, Aramis licked his lips at Porthos as an invitation. As Porthos lunged forward, Aramis kicked at his hands, flipped himself to his feet and danced away. Aramis was much faster and agile than Porthos but Porthos had a much longer reach. Porthos knew from experience that all he needed was to get within arm's reach. If he could get one hand on Aramis, he'd have him.

As they danced around the fire in circles, mirroring each other, Porthos began to simply step side to side while Aramis' confidence caused him to make much more of a show of it. Porthos quietly waited for an opening and finally, it came. Aramis stumbled slightly and Porthos leapt across the gap, tackling Aramis round the middle and landing on him heavily. All Aramis' breath rushed out of him with the impact. Porthos lost no time in flattening himself on top of Aramis, knowing his weight would be enough to hold him in place. Before Aramis could draw a full breath, Porthos took his wrists in one hand and held them on the ground above his head.

“Well now,” he rumbled against Aramis' ear. “Look what I caught.”

Aramis writhed underneath him, trying to throw Porthos off him. Porthos parted his own legs slightly and braced them either side of Aramis', keeping them pinned together. Keeping Aramis' wrists tightly clasped in one hand, Porthos used his other to tug Aramis' hair, exposing his neck to Porthos' gaze.

Aramis gave another lurch, trying to roll Porthos off. Porthos simply pressed his groin against Aramis' and growled into Aramis' ear.

“Mmm... do that again. Feels good,” he said, his low voice lighting a fire along Aramis' spine. Aramis went limp under Porthos' grasp. Porthos waited and smirked to himself. He let go of Aramis' hair experimentally and Aramis didn't move. His smirk widened and he let go of Aramis' wrists. He felt Aramis tense under him and laughed out loud.

“Do you think if you lay there limp I'll let you go, lover?” he asked. He chuckled again when there was no answer. Porthos pressed his hips down against Aramis and felt an involuntary shudder go through the body beneath his.

“You can't hide from me, Aramis. I've felt you whimper in my arms. I remember you whispering 'please' in my arms. I know how much you want me, want this,” he murmured, pressing himself against Aramis again. Aramis' resolve finally showed a crack as he gasped.

Porthos sat up and instantly regretted it. Aramis gave a violent lurch to the side and slid out from under Porthos. Porthos leapt to his feet at the same instant Aramis was getting to his. Aramis managed to take only two steps before Porthos pounced, his long arms catching Aramis by the ankle. Aramis landed heavily and tried to kick out with his free foot, meeting only the heavy torso of Porthos who was gradually pulling himself up Aramis' body. Aramis got his arms underneath him and pulled himself forwards. As his torso moved forwards, his hands came into Porthos' reach and he again found his wrists grasped in one broad hand of his lover.

This time Porthos pulled hard on them, eliciting a grunt of pain from Aramis as his shoulders were strained. Porthos finally managed to draw level with Aramis' body. He pressed his groin against Aramis' backside and felt himself begin to grow hard at the involuntary moan the movement wrung from Aramis. He moved up slightly and rubbed himself against the captured hands. He felt Aramis' hands flex and pressed into his hands again.

Still chuckling to himself, Porthos again braced his legs either side of Aramis' to hold him steady. Shifting slightly, he pressed himself hard against Aramis' backside, dragging another reluctant moan from Aramis. Porthos leaned down to whisper in Aramis' ear.

“Well, now. This is certainly an improvement. Is this what you wanted all along? Hmm?” Porthos taunted, nuzzling into the back of Aramis' neck. “This does, however, remind me. We agreed you owed me 8 bruises. I didn't account for the damage you did to the back of my neck, did I?”

Aramis again shuddered under Porthos' body. Porthos securely took Aramis' neck in his hand, ensuring his grip on his hands. Porthos stood, carefully pulling Aramis up with him. Aramis tried to kick out behind him but Porthos was too experienced and dodged easily. He pulled Aramis' wrists up and pushed his neck down. Aramis grunted as he was forced to bend at the waist by the pressure.

Porthos walked them to the branch where Aramis' coat was hung. Letting go of Aramis' neck, he pulled Aramis' long blue sash free and wrapped it loosely around Aramis' wrists. He rested his chin on Aramis' shoulder, feeling him shiver in his grasp.

“Ok, love?” he asked, whispering into Aramis' ear. Aramis smiled briefly and nodded. Porthos growled and quickly spun him around. He savagely bit down on Aramis' neck, causing Aramis to yelp loudly and his knees to buckle. Without Porthos holding him up this time, he slipped to his knees. Porthos dropped with him, not letting go of his neck. Within seconds he had Aramis' hands securely tied in front of him with the sash, leaving a long trail. He finally released Aramis' neck and licked over the spot, tasting blood. Aramis gasped and opened his eyes, panting slightly. Porthos sat back on his heels and Aramis looked down at his wrists and swallowed nervously. Porthos simply grinned darkly in the firelight. Aramis turned his head experimentally and winced as pain flashed across the bite mark. He gasped again and licked his lips, his eyes filling with lust.

Porthos smirked and rose to his feet. He leaned down and tugged the loose end of the sash, pulling Aramis up with him. Porthos led Aramis over to where the horses stood and nudged the back of Aramis' knees with his boot. Aramis obediently slid to his knees. Porthos reached down and loosely tied the end of the sash over a low branch. He ruffled the thick black hair and felt himself grow harder at the defiant look in Aramis' eyes.

“Hate me all you like but you're staying there while I'm busy, lover. I'll come for you when I'm ready,” he murmured darkly. He watched as Aramis' eyes clouded over with desire and he swallowed nervously again.

Porthos knew he was taking a risk pushing Aramis this far so soon but all his instincts were screaming at him that this was the way it should be. He knew, deep in his gut, that Aramis needed to be dominated this thoroughly and conquered but he needed it to be out of his hands. Porthos took his time moving around the camp-site, lighting the candle lantern for the tent, checking the horses for the night and spreading the blankets and cloaks out in the tent. Porthos moved their weapons into the tent, laying them either side of their organised bed, as was their custom when sleeping under canvas.

Aramis knelt quietly, listening to Porthos bustle around. His mind was swirling. How did Porthos know? Aramis had always been ashamed of his secret desires. He had always wished to be at the mercy of someone in this way. To be vanquished in this way, conquered. It was more than just sexually... It was this. To be subjugated. Humbled. He'd always been terribly ashamed of his arousal when intimately embarrassed. To Aramis' knowledge, Porthos was the only one to ever pick up on it and certainly the only one to act on it. Even Aramis had no idea how far Porthos was willing to take it. It was strange, though. While Aramis felt a terrible urge to rebel, to feel truly dominated, he found a remarkable amount of peace settling over him. He waited quietly where he'd been placed, listen attentively to Porthos' movements.


	12. Healing continues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aramis finally gives up control

Each time Porthos glanced over and saw Aramis placed on his knees, tied up with the horses, he felt his growing erection throb. He took his time, taking care not to touch Aramis each time he drew near. He bit his lip each time he saw Aramis lean towards him. As he was getting the waterskin out to place in the tent, he risked a glance down and saw Aramis' eyes were closed yet he was still leaning towards Porthos' thighs.

Aramis heard Porthos douse the fire behind him and felt his hand on his hair. He opened his eyes and turned his head up to look at Porthos above him. Aramis pressed his face into Porthos' thigh. Porthos held him there for several long seconds, listening to Aramis inhale deeply. Aramis breathed in the intoxicating scent. It was leather, horses, a faint scent of gunpowder and that heady scent that was pure Porthos. A scent he could pick out in a sea of people.

Porthos leaned down and undid the loose knot on the tree branch, tugging Aramis to his feet. Carrying the lantern in one hand and leading Aramis with the other he moved over to the tent. 

“Kneel,” ordered Porthos, all trace of tenderness vanishing from his voice. Aramis glared at Porthos, feeling his instincts kick into life again at the brusque order. Porthos smirked and waited, enjoying the fight rising in Aramis' eyes. He waited and just as Aramis opened his mouth to say something, Porthos simply pressed his finger against the angry bite mark on Aramis' neck. Aramis yelped and Porthos laughed.

“Kneel,” he repeated, a threat creeping into his voice this time.

Aramis slowly slid to his knees, glaring furiously at Porthos' boots, at the tent entrance. Porthos stepped over him and ducked into the tent. He quickly attached the lantern to its hook on the supporting beam. He stripped off his boots, shirt and breeches, watching the silhouette of Aramis grow restless outside. He lay himself back on the pile of blankets and bedding and took a deep breath.

“Heel,” he called and watched Aramis' shadow stiffen. He waited, his heart in his mouth. Eventually Aramis' shoulders sagged and Aramis knee-walked awkwardly into the tent. Porthos almost groaned aloud when he saw the colour in Aramis' cheeks. He stopped by Porthos' feet, his head bowed. Porthos' hardening cock gave another throb as he noticed a matching tightness visible in Aramis' breeches. It occurred to Porthos it wasn't just the position that turned Aramis on, it was the cruelty of the humiliation. He licked his lips and felt his smile grow even more.

“Strip,” he commanded without moving from his comfortable position. Aramis looked up at Porthos, his eyes pausing at the bulge in Porthos' shorts. He blushed harder and raised his wrists, a question in his eyes. Porthos simply shook his head.

“Figure it out,” he said bluntly.

Aramis whined slightly and bit his lip. He leaned forward awkwardly, undoing his braces down from first one side, then the other. His nimble fingers making quick work of the laces on both his shorts and breeches. He pushed them down, bit by bit, over each hip. Awkwardly he moved his bound wrists from side to side, gradually getting them down over his hips. As his long cock sprang free, already fully hard, he heard Porthos chuckle darkly. Aramis whimpered at the noise. Aramis slipped sideways onto his bottom and, with great difficulty, pushed each of his boots down. Aramis whimpered again as he found it difficult to pull his boots off. Porthos made no move to help. Finally settling on a position that worked, he managed to get one off. He made quick work of the other and quickly managed to push his garments down to his ankles. He scooped the pile up and laid them in the corner where Porthos had placed his.

He shuffled back onto his knees and moved back to Porthos feet.

“You're still wearing your shirt, Aramis,” remarked Porthos sternly. Aramis lifted his head and glared at Porthos. Porthos smirked again at the flash of annoyance in his face. “Yes?” he asked. Aramis simply waved his bound wrists in frustration.”If you need my help, lover, you just need to ask.”

Porthos smiled arrogantly as he watched the warring emotions on Aramis' face. Eventually sheer stubbornness won out and Aramis clenched his jaw defiantly. Porthos sighed dramatically and heaved himself to his own knees. Since Aramis had such long legs, when on their knees, Porthos towered over him by at least three inches. Since Porthos had a more muscular torso, Aramis felt considerably intimidated. As Porthos drew closer, Aramis felt his resolve weaken but he was a Musketeer. He raised his chin in defiance and Porthos simply looked him up and down.

“Bad choice, lover,” murmured Porthos. He wrapped his fingers around each of Aramis' arms, just above the sash. He squeezed down, hard. Aramis gasped almost instantly. The strength of Porthos' grip was breath-taking. He slowly increased the pressure.

“Mercy,” Aramis panted. Porthos continued to slowly squeeze harder. “Mercy!”

“You know what you need to do, Aramis. I told you to strip. I told you what to do if you need help,” Porthos said flatly. Aramis whined, feeling blood gather in his hands as the pressure increased almost unbearably.

“Please, Sir. Help me remove my shirt for you, please. Please!” Aramis cried. Porthos immediately released Aramis' arms. Aramis whimpered and held his arms close to his chest. Porthos resisted the urge to rub Aramis' skin better. He was warned. Porthos tugged Aramis' shirt up and over his head and undid the sash to slide the shirt off his arms. Aramis blushed at being undressed like a child. As his shirt came off, Porthos was pleased to note several red marks where his fingers had been.

Porthos leaned over to place Aramis' discarded shirt on the pile of clothing. When he turned back he was startled to see Aramis looking slightly lost. He kicked himself, noticing he hadn't done the sash back up. He roughly grabbed Aramis' wrist and tied them back together. He lifted Aramis' chin and kissed him hard. Aramis melted into Porthos, letting his mouth relax against Porthos. Porthos growled into his mouth and kissed him fervently. He pulled Aramis' hair, tilting his head back and continued to deeply explore his mouth, biting at his bottom lip.

Porthos broke away, leaving them both panting slightly. Porthos lowered his head and swiped his tongue firmly over the gradually deepening bruise on Aramis' neck. Aramis whimpered again. Porthos picked him up and heaved him round until he was flat on his back where Porthos had been laying previously. Porthos reached up and tied the sash to the tent pole up above where their heads rest. Aramis squirmed, tugging gently on the sash to make certain it was secure. Porthos unlaced his under-clothes and slowly pulled them off, watching Aramis lick his lips as his thick, hard cock was exposed to the air. Porthos gently parted Aramis' legs and knelt between them, laying his slim legs over his own dark muscled thighs.

Porthos gently wrapped his hand round Aramis' length and moved slightly. He gently rubbed across the tip, gathering moisture, and started long firm movements, achingly slow. Aramis moaned quietly.

“Now Aramis,” murmured Porthos. “About this payback...” he trailed off. Aramis lifted his head to stare at Porthos. Porthos continued his movement along Aramis' cock. “I think we can call it a draw when it comes to our necks, don't you?”

Aramis nodded emphatically.

“I think your arms make up for these,” Porthos continued, gesturing at the vertical stripes still showing on his chest and stomach. Aramis writhed in Porthos' grip, the terribly slow movements driving him wild. Porthos mentally steeled himself.

“I think, however, since you have made it uncomfortable for me to ride, lover... We can share that discomfort,” he finished quietly.

Slowly, Porthos' meaning settled and Aramis gasped. Porthos watched him carefully. He watched as colour rose in Aramis' cheeks again and knew he'd played it right. He leaned over Aramis' naked body, not releasing Aramis' cock and hovered over him, their faces inches from one another.

“It seems only fair, lover,” Porthos whispered thickly. “I feel you when I ride. I quite like the idea of you feeling me when you ride.”

Aramis moaned softly.

“I think you'd like that,” breathed Porthos, his lips brushing Aramis' ear. “Would like that, Aramis? Would you like my cock inside you? Is that why yours is jumping around in my hand? Are you imagining me inside you?” Porthos taunted, flicking his tongue across Aramis' ear. Porthos could feel the heat coming off Aramis' cheeks and watched as he nodded.

“Yes,” Aramis said in a hoarse whisper. “Please.”

Porthos groaned deeply and drew himself back down Aramis' prone body. He gently let go of Aramis' cock and placed his hands on the inside of the pale thighs. Porthos shifted forwards, his own thighs lifting Aramis' hips into the air.

“If this hurts, lover, you will tell me immediately,” said Porthos. Aramis whimpered. “I'm not asking. You **will** tell me. It's not your choice,” he finished silkily. Aramis shuddered and nodded earnestly.

Porthos reached back and located the small bottle of oil he'd secreted earlier. He trickled a little onto his fingers. He gently rested his finger at Aramis' entrance, holding it there without moving as Aramis gasped. He resumed slowly stroking Aramis' cock, beginning to move his fingertip in slow circles.

“Relax, lover. I know you want this. You know you want this,” Porthos murmured soothingly. Aramis let his hips drop, pushing slightly at Porthos' finger. Porthos smiled to himself and gently pressed his finger in, stopping at the first knuckle. Aramis groaned deeply at the intrusion. He found himself fidgeting restlessly, utterly startled at how invaded and captured he instantly felt. Breathlessly, he fluttered his muscles around Porthos' finger. Porthos trickled a little more oil onto his finger and eased further in, sliding his finger all the way into Aramis, listening to his little gasps the whole time. 

“Aramis?” he asked quietly, drawing his finger out to the tip and then pushing back in. Aramis only laughed breathlessly and tugged on his restrained wrists. Porthos began to move his finger in and out regularly, matching the slow speed of his other hand on his cock. Aramis sighed and arched his hips off the blankets. Porthos smirked, moving his finger in slow circles, gradually widening his motion. Porthos placed a second finger at Aramis' entrance. Aramis whined in response, flexing his hips again.

“Please,” he panted. Porthos obliged, adding a second finger, groaning at the way Aramis stretched to accommodate him. Aramis moaned and clenched around Porthos' fingers. Porthos released his cock for a moment, adding more oil to his fingers. Porthos moved his fingers in long slow strokes, letting them part slightly. He stifled a groan, watching Aramis tug on the sash and twisting his hips.

“What is it, lover? What do you want?” he murmured, twisting his fingers and listening to Aramis whimper with the movement.

“Don't know,” he panted, chuckling slightly. Porthos added slightly more oil and pushed a third finger in without warning. Aramis arched his hips off the blanket again and whined loudly. Porthos held his hand still and waited until Aramis settled down. 

“Hurts,” gasped Aramis. Porthos nodded, not moving his hand. Aramis clenched his muscles around the thick fingers and hissed. Gradually he relaxed around the thick dark fingers and pressed down on him. Porthos smiled and moved his fingers in and out. Aramis moaned and writhed under Porthos. He twisted again and pulled desperately on the sash.

“Please,” he whimpered, lifting his head and gazing at Porthos.

“Please what?” asked Porthos, twisting his fingers inside Aramis and drawing them back and forth

“Oh please,” he whined, pulling hard on the sash. Porthos withdrew his fingers and stroked his own cock, covering himself with the oil. He watched as Aramis began to pant again, watching Porthos' hand, mesmerised.

“Is this what you want, lover?” asked Porthos slyly. Aramis nodded rapidly. Porthos placed the tip of his thick cock against Aramis' slightly open entrance. “This might hurt, my love,” he warned. Aramis licked his lips in response. Porthos pressed in, stopping as the thick head of his cock passed the ring of muscle.

He heard Aramis moan softly and leaned over him. He braced his weight with with his hands either side of Aramis' head and murmured in his ear.

“Hurting, lover?”

“Yes, Sir,” panted Aramis. Porthos' heart skipped a beat at the word 'Sir'. “Good hurt,” added Aramis, his cheeks burning red again and it took all Porthos' willpower not to press harder into Aramis. 

He felt Aramis relax again underneath him, adjusting to his girth. He pressed in another couple of inches and felt Aramis' hips lurch. Again, he held himself steady. He nuzzled his way down to Aramis bruise and kissed it gently. Aramis sighed softly and Porthos covered his mouth with a tender kiss. Aramis moaned against Porthos' mouth as Porthos slid the final few inches into Aramis and pressed his hips firmly against him.

Porthos rested his forehead against Aramis' and closed his eyes. He had never ever felt peace or a connection like this. He was overcome with emotion, feeling Aramis enveloping him like this, hearing his gasps, his moans, his whimpers. He knew, without a shred of doubt, they belonged together like this. He felt Aramis writhe underneath him and he growled.

Aramis was on fire. He, too, felt that connection. They'd been heading towards this for years. He pulled hard on his bound wrists and writhed beneath Porthos. His cheeks burned with shame and arousal. He had never felt so captured, so ravaged. It was all he'd ever dreamed off. He moaned wantonly, the feeling of being so stretched around Porthos' thick cock was more than he'd ever imagined. He clenched his muscles around Porthos and delighted in the resistance, the feeling of being forced open and the deep ache driving him wild. He lifted his legs to loop them round Porthos' hips and whined.

“Please, please,” he chanted, digging his heels into Porthos. Porthos growled deep in his chest, the sound reverberating round the tent.

“You harlot,” he snarled into Aramis' ear, pulling back and sliding back in slowly. Aramis moaned low, shame filling him at the word. Porthos felt his self-control slipping at the tortured sound and he growled again. He began to thrust smoothly, pressing his weight into Aramis each time.

Aramis dug his heels into Porthos' muscled buttocks pleadingly. Porthos growled and slammed his length into Aramis suddenly. Aramis wailed in surprise and yanked on the sash desperately.

“My whore,” Porthos grunted and began to finally thrust in earnest. He growled deep within his chest and threw his head back, relentlessly pounding into Aramis. 

Aramis felt every shred of his doubt and resistance fall away. Every part of him surrendered to Porthos, his head falling back on the pillow, his legs falling to the sides. Porthos snarled and used one of his hands to lift Aramis' leg behind the knee. He pressed Aramis' knee back against his chest and Porthos used his own chest to pin it there. Aramis cried out as the new angle made Porthos feel deeper.

Porthos felt Aramis yield under him and reached between their bodies to grasp Aramis' cock. He stroked Aramis with his still oiled hand, hard and fast. He matched his thrusts to strokes on Aramis' cock and growled. He felt Aramis' free leg flail at their sides.

Aramis' moans became more frantic and breathless as Porthos continued his rigorous thrusting. With a loud wail, Aramis arched his back and released into Porthos' hand. Porthos released Aramis' cock gently and hammered against Aramis a couple of more times and came with a bellow, emptying himself deep into the quivering form of Aramis.

Porthos released the slim leg against his chest and lay it gently beside them. He dropped onto Aramis and panted heavily, pressing their foreheads together again. After a long minute, Porthos heaved himself up onto his hands and kissed Aramis on the forehead. Aramis smiled, his eyes still closed. Porthos gently withdrew from Aramis, both men sharing a sharp intake of breath as the cold air hit them. Porthos located the cloth he'd left for them and gently cleaned them both up. He glanced at Aramis occasionally and his heart swelled at the look of contented bliss on his face.

Porthos placed the cloth and oil in a corner of the tent and found the waterskin. He undid the sash from the tent pole, lowered Aramis' arms and put his arm under Aramis' shoulders. He tilted the skin to Aramis' lips, who drank gratefully. Porthos took his own swig, soothing his hoarse throat. He tossed the empty skin to the side and massaged Aramis' shoulders gently. Aramis murmured happily, flexing his shoulders under Porthos' strong hands.

Porthos rolled Aramis gently onto his side and stretched out against his back. He tugged a stray blanket from behind him and tossed it lightly over them both. He brushed Aramis' hair back from his sweaty forehead and tilted his chin up to kiss him gently. They lay together in silence for a long time. 

“You OK, lover?” Porthos asked quietly. Aramis nodded in silence, a sleepy smile on his face. Porthos sat up for a minute to extinguish the lantern. Laying back down he wrapped his arm around Aramis' waist and took the sash in his hand. His fingers found the knot but Aramis drew them further up his chest.

“You want to stay bound for me, Aramis?” he murmured against Aramis' ear. Aramis nodded, hiding his face against the pillow. “Good idea. Can't let you free, can we?” Porthos muttered quietly, giving the sash a tug. Aramis snuggled back against Porthos gratefully.

Porthos began to go over the events of the evening but quickly realised Aramis had fallen immediately asleep. He chuckled to himself and pulled Aramis closer to him, letting himself drift off just as quickly.


	13. Assessing the healing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our Musketeers have a heart-to-heart.

Aramis woke up slowly, still in the dark. He smiled instantly, hearing that oh so familiar snoring. Porthos had turned onto his back and was snoring loudly, his mouth open. He went to stretch and found his wrists still tied, though they had become looser while they slept. He smiled and stretched as best he could. He found his shoulders were slightly aching and he had a flash of being tied down with Porthos' leering face above him. He felt a small muscle strain in his hip and remembered Porthos man-handling his leg. His ass felt remarkably tender and he flushed, remembering how violently Porthos had taken him and how he'd surrendered to it. His mental inventory finished with a mild throbbing in his forearms and he remembered that vicious grip Porthos had used to make him beg. Aramis felt himself glowing from top to bottom.

Aramis turned over awkwardly, trying not to disturb the binding and snuggled into Porthos' side. He nuzzled his head against Porthos' shoulder and fell back to sleep.

Porthos woke to find Aramis had tucked himself under Porthos' arm. He gazed down at the sleeping man and smiled to see the binding still present on Aramis' wrists. His eyes touched on the faint yellow marks on Aramis' wrists and the large angry purple bruise on his neck. He judged by the light it must be just before dawn.

Listening to Aramis' light breathing, he surmised he was only dozing. He twisted his arm to brush the hair out of Aramis' eyes. The warm brown eyes flickered open and Porthos found his breath taken away by the look of pure love in them.

“What?” asked Aramis sleepily.

“You really love me, don't you?” asked Porthos smiling. Aramis nodded and nestled his head against Porthos' chest. Porthos stroked the dark hair. “I love you too. You know that, right?” Porthos asked quietly. Aramis nodded again and kissed the skin where his head lay.

They lay together quietly, listening as the birds began to chirp their dawn chorus. Aramis stretched against Porthos. Porthos reached down and gently pulled Aramis' loosely bound wrists up to his chest. Porthos slowly unwound the sash that had come loose in the night. He dropped the sash to the side and took his wrists in one of his large hands.

“Can I ask you a few questions, my love?” asked Aramis.

“Of course,” answered Porthos, stroking Aramis' hair peacefully.

“Why did you obey me at home?”

“Hm,” he mused. “I don't know. Curiosity initially. Couldn't bear to disappoint you. Felt so right to be yours. Just made me hard, honestly. Even the pain,” Porthos said, chuckling. Aramis didn't comment. “Why do you ask?”

“I can't do that. I want it desperately. I need what you gave me last night. To be put in my place under you. I can't do it, though. I need to be **put** there,” Aramis said quietly, sounding slightly ashamed.

“That doesn't matter, love. You and I are different people that mesh together. I don't want you to roll over for me. I want to **take** you,” Porthos replied. He squeezed Aramis' wrists gently. “I love to see your fight, your defiance. I want to need to tie you down. I want to need force. I love you, Aramis, and part of you is that defiance, that rebellion, your mischief. I want you to share that with me and I want to take it from you,” Porthos finished quietly.

“Do you want to hurt me?” asked Aramis.

“Not especially. I'm more than happy to use pain to make my point and certainly to get my own way,” Porthos answered, playfully poking the bruises blossoming on Aramis' arms. “I'll happily use it to drive you wild in ways you like or to keep you in line, but it's not my goal, no.”

“Why didn't you fight like I did?”

“I didn't want to. Did you want me to fight?”

“No!” Aramis answered suddenly. “I just wondered why you didn't. I thought it might have been pity because I was such a mess.”

“As I said, it started as simple curiosity. Then your evil little grin turned me on and I was powerless to resist,” he teased.

“You weren't powerless, though, were you?” asked Aramis, confused. “You're a warrior. You could have fought back.”

“You had me, Aramis. I was there for you. I was yours. I gave you that authority willingly,” Porthos said softly, stroking Aramis' hair.

Aramis was quiet for a couple of minutes as he sorted through his thoughts.

“You like defeating me because being rebellious is part of who I am?” Aramis asked.

“Yep,” he answered simply.

“So it's OK that I find it so satisfying to have you willingly placing yourself in my hands **because** you're so strong?”

“Of course,” Porthos said quietly. They were quiet for another minute. Porthos could feel Aramis was still tense. “It's OK that you want to hurt me as well, you know,” Porthos said softly.

Aramis tilted his head up to look at him. Porthos nodded at him.

“Are you sure?”

“I am, Aramis. I liked the pain. I found the look in your eye when you hurt me absolutely intoxicating,” Porthos explained quietly. “I would have done anything for you and suffering pain was part of that. But... I also liked the pain itself.”

Aramis smiled and fell into a peaceful silence for a while longer.

“I was thinking we'd ride into Pinon. The Captain mentioned that man yesterday and I'm curious. It's only a couple of hours away,” said Aramis.

“Good plan. After breakfast, duelling practice and some shooting, yes?” asked Porthos. Aramis sighed and nodded. “Not a holiday,” reminded Porthos.

“OK, let's get up, then,” Aramis groaned and stretched, arching his body against Porthos like a cat. Porthos stretched, too, grunting. They relaxed against each other and, after a beat, laughed easily together. Neither one of them seemed willing to get up.

“I get to ask you a question now,” said Porthos quietly. There was a note of nerves in his voice that caught Aramis' attention. He tilted his head up to listen.

“Are we- Is this-” he began. He swallowed nervously. “We're a couple?” he asked quietly.

“We are, my dear Porthos,” Aramis answered.

“I don't want to stifle your dalliances, Aramis,” Porthos said quietly. “You are a libertine at heart and I wouldn't change that.”

“As of this moment, my love, they are all affairs. I may have mistresses. I may even love some of them. **You** are the love of my life and anyone else I may spend time with is an affair.”

“Are you telling me I'm your wife?” teased Porthos.

“Just as I am yours, my darling. Just as the trees grow to find the sun and the streams flow to find the sea, I live to find you. You are the centre of my world. I love you and yes, my love. We are a couple,” Aramis answered. Porthos smiled to hear his natural verbosity returning. The two men shifted slightly to share a tender kiss.

They finally pulled themselves into a sitting position and kissed again. Rapidly this kiss turned into something less sentimental and much hungrier. Aramis wrapped his arms around Porthos. Feeling his heart pounding, he moaned into Porthos' mouth and clutched the back of his neck, pulling him ever closer.

Porthos growled slightly and arched his back. He yanked Aramis hard against him and bit lightly at Aramis' bottom lip. Aramis gasped into his mouth and pushed Porthos backwards, following him down and capturing his mouth again.

Porthos rolled them over to his left, kissing Aramis with such intensity it made them both breathless. Aramis rolled them to the left again and moaned low into Porthos' mouth. Porthos grunted in pain.

Aramis lifted his head, panting. Porthos removed one hand from Aramis' back and fumbled under his tail bone. He pulled Aramis' pistol from under him and laughed. Aramis dropped his head onto Porthos' chest and laughed too. Aramis rolled sideways off Porthos and pulled himself up to his knees.

“Chuck us me clothes then,” Porthos said, grinning. Aramis knee-walked over to the pile of clothing and froze. He looked over his shoulder at Porthos and they shared a heated gaze, memories of the previous night flooding back.

They dressed quickly and quietly, smirking constantly at each other. They repeatedly caught each other staring intimately, with intent. Finally they were both dressed and headed out the tent. They both began their stretching routines for combat, rolling their shoulders, twisting their hips. They lunged, stretching their legs in unison, the pattern of movements ingrained after years under Tréville. Shaking their limbs out they both strapped on their sword belts, clipping them to the fronts.

Aramis was first to draw this time, extending his sword toward Porthos.

“Shall we, then? A quick dance before breakfast?” Aramis taunted, the flourish back in his step. Porthos grinned and drew his own sword.

 


	14. Healing hurts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shooting practice begins and Aramis struggles.

After they'd breakfasted, Aramis tended to the horses while Porthos immediately cleaned up their breakfast dishes.

“I never realised you liked things to be so tidy,” he called. Porthos just smiled and continued without comment. Aramis laughed and went to help. “It's adorable,” he said, kissing Porthos lightly.

The two of them quickly packed up the tent and blankets. Years of practice made them work together seamlessly. Porthos scooped up his pistols from where they lay and looked expectantly at Aramis. Aramis picked up his pistol. Porthos leaned down and picked up Aramis' hat and arquebus, thrusting them both into his chest. He strode off into the trees and Aramis followed reluctantly, picking up his powder.

Porthos led them to a spot, well inside the tree line, he'd found while collecting wood the previous day. The trees were much closer together but there was a distinctly thick beech tree to aim for.

“What do you want to work on, Aramis?”

“Where do you think I should start?” Aramis countered, the uncertainty returning to his eyes. Porthos frowned, thoughtfully.

“Is it the noise, Aramis? Like you found with the swords?”

“I think so,” said Aramis slowly. “I hear the noise.”

“I think you're nervous around them in general. Do you know how sexy you are when you swagger around with that on your shoulder? Now, I'm having to nudge you just to make you touch it. I remember not long after we met you were showing off with your pistol. You kept showing us all how you could draw, fire, toss and catch it again by the barrel to use it as a club within seconds. Now... You just don't.”

Aramis nodded.

“That rings true. Pistol first?” he asked softly. Porthos drew one of his pistols and handed it to Aramis. Aramis took a deep breath and cocked the pistol. He was embarrassed to see his arm shaking. Porthos stepped behind him and Aramis felt Porthos' warm body steadying him. Aramis squeezed the trigger. He jumped at the noise, the shot flying off to the side, and hopped back against Porthos. Bumping into the thick body Aramis, felt himself grow bolder.

Aramis tossed the firearm to the floor, stepped forwards and reached his hand out behind him. Quick as lightning, Porthos handed Aramis his other pistol. Aramis cocked it and fired it in one swift motion. He jumped again slightly but this time there was a definite crack as it hit the tree. In one smooth motion, he tossed it to the floor, turned to the side, drew his own from his belt and fired. He glanced round at Porthos. Porthos nodded encouragingly at him. Aramis looked down at his ornately carved pistol and started to reload.

They reloaded in silence. Aramis hooked all three of the pistols on his belt and took a deep breath. Porthos stood to his side to watch him. Aramis closed one eye and focussed on the tree. He fired, dropped the gun, pulled out another, fired, dropped the second and finally fired the third within seconds.

“How did that feel?” asked Porthos.

“Like riding a horse,” Aramis answered flatly.

Porthos stooped to pick up his two pistols and began to reload them without another word. He flicked his eyes up to Aramis. Aramis already had his reloaded and waited impatiently for Porthos'. Porthos handed his two over without a word.

Aramis repeated the action, closing one eye and firing all three pistols in seconds, stepping forward each time.

Aramis stood still for a moment, glaring at the tree. He bent to retrieve his pistol to find Porthos tucking them all onto his own belt.

“Happy now, are you?” snapped Aramis. Porthos simply nodded and turned to walk the few paces back to where they'd left Aramis' arquebus and hat. Porthos slung the weapon over his shoulder and turned to look at Aramis who had followed.

“Feel better?” asked Porthos bluntly.

“Perfect,” muttered Aramis. Porthos raised an eyebrow and glared at him expectantly. Aramis glared back sullenly. Porthos simply waited.

“OK. Not perfect. It's just pointless,” Aramis snapped. Aramis snatched his hat off the ground and put it on.

“Pointless?” asked Porthos, curiously. He reloaded one of his pistols and placed it back onto his belt and attended to the other.

“Well, what **is** the point?!” Aramis shouted suddenly. “What's the point in any of this?”

Porthos didn't say anything. He simply replaced his second pistol onto his belt and turned his attention to Aramis' decorated one.

“I'm obviously broken! I can't fight. I can't shoot. I can't sleep on my own. I cry. I can't go anywhere on my own! What is the **point** in trying any more?!” Aramis ranted.

Porthos continued to watch him silently. He placed Aramis' pistol onto his belt and reached up to adjust his bandanna.

“SAY SOMETHING!” yelled Aramis, taking his hat back off and hurling it at Porthos. Porthos folded his arms and regarded him steadily.

Aramis let out a shriek of frustration and launched himself at the silent Porthos. Porthos caught Aramis easily and held him fast. Aramis kicked out at him, landing several heavy blows to Porthos' shins. Porthos merely grunted in pain and kept hold of Aramis' arms.

Suddenly all the fight went from Aramis and he sagged in Porthos' arms. He rested breathlessly, leaning his head against Porthos' shoulder. His mood swings were confusing him terribly. He didn't know what he was doing any more.

Porthos battled with the urge to hug him. He felt Aramis finally go limp and pulled him back to look at him.

“OK?” Porthos asked. Aramis nodded mutely. “Serious question, Aramis. You get to answer this once and once only.”

“Ok...” replied Aramis warily.

“Do you **want** to get better? Do you want to return to the Musketeers? Do you want to be stitched back together?”

Aramis squinted at Porthos in shock. He nodded.

“You gotta say it, Aramis. Don't say if you don't mean it. Be honest. With me and with yourself,” Porthos said, firmly. He waited until Aramis started to open his mouth. “Aramis. Know this. If you mean it, you had better fucking work for it.”

Aramis closed his mouth. He respected Porthos too much to give a flippant response. He drew his arms out of Porthos' grasp and began pacing.

Porthos' folded his arms and watched him. He fought hard to hide his nerves. He hadn't expected this. He didn't expect Aramis to genuinely consider leaving.

“Yes, my love,” Aramis answered finally, looking back at Porthos. “I do. I really do.”

“Then stop beating yourself up,” Porthos said, bluntly. “I know you, Aramis. Every time I see you struggle with something, I immediately see you punish yourself for it. You apologise for things that you don't need to. You get angry when you need to relearn something. Even just then. You got furious at yourself because you weren't as accurate,” he continued. “Tréville and I both expected this to take time to work through. Why do you think we're out here for an entire week? This won't be fixed after one day, Aramis. Give yourself a break.”

Aramis nodded and exhaled slowly. They watched each other in silence for a few minutes.

“Let me try again,” Aramis said softly. Porthos handed him his pistol and stepped to the side out the way. Aramis looked at his pistol and hooked it onto his belt. He picked his arquebus up. Porthos raised an eyebrow.

Aramis dusted his hat off and replaced it firmly, a slight smile crossing his face. He narrowed his eyes at the tree while he leaned down to reach the box of powder sachets. Ripping the end off with his teeth he spat out the paper. He emptied the powder onto the pan and quickly loaded the muzzle, his brow creasing in concentration. Taking a breath, he turned to face their target tree. Porthos watched his eyes constantly flicking between the weapon and the tree while he lit the fuse. Blowing gently on it, he raised the weapon to his shoulder.

Porthos smiled to himself as he watched Aramis keep both his eyes open and on the target. Aramis squeezed the trigger and dipped his head at the last second, the powder brushing harmlessly across the wide brim of his hat.

Porthos heard the ball scrape the side of the tree and turned back to Aramis to reassure him. Aramis tipped his hat to Porthos, slung his gun over his shoulder and swaggered back to the clearing.

Porthos heard a crash and turned back to the tree. A huge bough came crashing off the tree, its branch cleanly severed by Aramis' shot. Porthos laughed his loud barking laugh and followed Aramis.

 


	15. Rehabilitation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Re-training continues

After a few hours of riding, Aramis started to moan playfully about being too uncomfortable to keep going. Porthos had very little sympathy, choosing instead to keep reminding him it had been payback.

As the midday sun beat down on them, they came across the village of Pinon. It was a small settlement but it did have its own forge and a comfortable enough looking inn. As was their habit, they made straight for the inn to offload any unnecessary luggage they were carrying. They decided to stay for the night and booked the only room at the inn. The two Musketeers found themselves amused how apologetic the innkeeper was that only one bed was available.

They unpacked as much as possible from their horses and carried it up to their room. They intended to return to the woods to continue training. They repacked their mounts with just their cloaks, a single bottle of wine and their weapons.

They got all the promises in the world that nothing would happen to their belongings while they were gone. Whether it was that they were so well armed or simply their uniforms, the innkeeper seemed extremely eager to reassure them he wasn't a thief.

“Is it just me or is there something going on 'ere?” asked Porthos as they mounted their much less laden horses.

“Indeed,” murmured Aramis thoughtfully. “Did you notice how earnest the innkeeper was? If I hadn't seen the truth in his eyes for myself I would have said he protested too much. Perhaps he thought by us asking if it was all right to leave things in the room we were asking if it was safe?”

“I suppose. I'm used to taverns in Paris going silent at the sight of a Musketeer but out here?”

“Perhaps we should visit the Comte and see if it is something we can help with?” Aramis suggested as they crossed the village square. Porthos shook his head.

“I think that's an over-reaction on our part. One innkeeper insisting our belongings are safe isn't really good enough. We're just passing through. If we see anything else then fine, we'll ask. For now, though, we're busy.” Porthos said firmly.

Leaving the village, the two men urged their horses up to a canter. They came across a wide open space of grass leading up a gentle slope. Aramis turned sideways to smile at Porthos under the brim of his hat. Porthos laughed and nodded.

In unison they both kicked their horses up to a gallop. Both animals leapt forward. Porthos heard Aramis laughing beside him and realised this was probably the first time he'd felt the wind on his face since before Savoy. Until now, their horses had been so laden that their progress had been slow and steady.

Urging his horse forward, Porthos rode side by side with Aramis. Looking sideways at his friend, Porthos saw his beaming smile and felt a load off his shoulders. Aramis had that twinkle in his eye that Aramis had fallen in love with so many years ago.

After about a mile, they began to approach a line of trees and naturally slowed down to a gentle trot. They found themselves still laughing. Aramis reached over and patted Porthos' knee before sitting back up and stroking his horse's neck.

“What was that for?” Porthos asked, smiling.

“This is what I needed, my dear friend. To clear my head and to get out of the city,” Aramis replied, slowing to a walk. Porthos slowed down beside him. “I can already feel some of my strength returning. I've felt so weak and vulnerable. I've relied on you to keep me safe. I can already feel that slipping away,” he said, beaming at Porthos.

"You'd do it for me," he said quietly.

"Be that as it may, I am eternally grateful for all you're doing for me," Aramis said, sweeping his hat off and pressing it to his chest. Porthos smiled at the dramatic gesture. It warmed his heart to see Aramis' flair returning. 

They steered their horses to a nearby stream and dismounted. They gave the animals a long tether to give them room to drink and graze and moved further into the trees. Porthos was a couple of steps ahead of Aramis and he drew his sword quickly, turning back to Aramis. Aramis drew his sword instantly but took a stumbling step back from Porthos. Porthos stood still, sword raised, waiting for Aramis to respond. Aramis peered at Porthos questioningly but Porthos didn't move.

Aramis finally stepped to the side and found Porthos mirrored his movement. Aramis circled with Porthos, waiting for him to attack. He felt himself getting nervous. Every time Porthos simply stepped with him, Aramis felt his frustration and anxiety rising.

“Come on, then,” he insisted. Porthos didn't reply.

Finally Aramis threw his sword to the floor and cried out in frustration. Porthos stepped towards him, sword still raised. He hooked his toe under Aramis' sword and flicked it into the air. He caught the blade in his gloved hand and held the hilt out to Aramis. Aramis snatched it from him angrily and batted Porthos' blade away.

Porthos withdrew a step and resumed his guarded stance. Aramis snarled in annoyance. Porthos' face remained impassive. Aramis lunged clumsily, his irritation getting the better of him. Porthos swiped it away with ease. Aramis narrowed his eyes and drew the dagger from the small of his back. Porthos mirrored this action as well. Aramis felt panic rising in his throat and began to step more wildly, his footwork becoming messy and his sword dropping.

Finally Aramis began to attack, his strikes wild and uncoordinated. Porthos parried each and every one, never returning the aggression. After a short time, Aramis fell to one knee, resting on his sword. He dropped his knife and pulled his glove off with his teeth, using his bare fingers to rub tears away furiously. Porthos stepped away from him, his heart breaking.

Porthos silently moved to a tree nearby and tossed his pistols and hat to the ground. He glanced back at Aramis who hadn't moved. Porthos pulled his gloves off and dropped them on the floor. He did the same with his belts and shrugged his doublet off as well. He turned back to Aramis, having stripped his top half down to just his shirt and bandanna.

Aramis had wiped his eyes and was stood watching Porthos. He scowled and crouched, both his blades raised.

“Why are you doing this, Porthos?” he hissed.

Porthos said nothing. Aramis waved him away and stepped back a few paces. He drove his sword into the ground and tossed his hat down. Glaring over his shoulder at the immobile Porthos he found himself growing increasingly angry. He dropped his guns to the floor and he, too, stripped down to just his shirt. Turning back to Porthos, he rolled his shoulder.

“Why, Porthos?” said Aramis angrily. Porthos still didn't reply.

Aramis narrowed his eyes and began to circle Porthos more carefully. He found his panic had dissolved and instead he was increasingly angry by this refusal to engage.

“You don't fight with honour any more, Porthos? You run scared all of a sudden? That's not the Porthos I know.”

For the first time since drawing his sword, Porthos reacted. He simply raised one eyebrow under his bandanna.

Aramis dropped his dagger in surprise.

“Oh,” he said quietly. Porthos nodded silently.

Aramis quickly bent to scoop up his dagger and as he stood, he whirled round to strike at Porthos overhead. Porthos blocked it with his own sword out of instinct and they froze for a moment with the sound of clashing steel ringing through the trees. Aramis nodded his head slightly to Porthos and Porthos grinned.

The pair began to duel furiously, Aramis using his agility and speed to keep himself out of Porthos' long reach. This, however, had the side effect that he also could never reach Porthos. Aramis finally saw his opening. He darted close and raised his sword over Porthos' head. Porthos reached up to parry Aramis' blade with his knife. Aramis quickly lunged with his dagger, forcing Porthos to pull his sword close to his body to block. Aramis crouched and spun his leg round, sweeping Porthos' legs out from under him. As he fell, Porthos raised his sword to block any incoming attacks. Aramis parried it easily and stepped on Porthos' dagger, pinning his outstretched hand to the floor. Aramis held the point of his sword to Porthos' throat.

They panted and regarded each other in silence for a few seconds.

“Yield?” asked Aramis, his moustache twitching as he hid a smile.


	16. Self assessment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aramis examines what's holding him back.

Aramis and Porthos sat on the floor, their backs against a thick wide trunk. They watched their horses grazing, a comfortable silence between them, passing the wine back and forth.

“That was a risky trick,” Aramis said at last, smiling at Porthos. Porthos nodded and took a swig of wine.

“You kept running from combat,” he replied. “I was trying to... Find out what it was you were running from? Distract you from the fear?”

“Piss me off?” laughed Aramis. Porthos laughed too and wrapped his arm around Aramis' shoulders.

“Something like that,” he said, chortling.

“It worked. It was like... Hm,” Aramis started. Porthos sat quietly, his arm around the slighter man. He pressed a kiss into the black waves of hair and sat quietly with him while he thought.

“No matter how much I trust you, my love, my goal hasn't been to win,” Aramis said after a while. “It's just been to protect myself. As you said, I've been running from combat. You've had to push me into it constantly and I've simply protected myself.”

Porthos nodded and rested his head against Aramis'. Aramis curled closer to Porthos' side and took another mouthful of wine.

“Today, though,” he continued, “you made me angry. I've been so afraid of being hurt that I was too scared to put myself at risk. But then? I forgot all that and I found the urge to win asserted itself. I wanted to actually win. That's the first time since... Even in Savoy...” Aramis trailed off.

Porthos wrapped his arm tighter around Aramis to begin to stroke his hair quietly. Taking the wine from him, Porthos took a mouthful and rested it on the floor beside his leg. He reached into Aramis' lap and held his hand. A long time passed before either man spoke again.

“I knew we were going to die,” Aramis said quietly, his voice choked with silent tears. “I woke up and heard them, Porthos. I heard them dying and shouting. By the time Marsac and I had our swords and we'd made it out the tent, half of our friends were already dead. I could see at least 50 men in masks and I knew we would lose.”

Porthos ran his thumb over the back of Aramis' hand but made no other movement.

“I took two of them out and located the leader but even as I struck him, I knew no matter what happened, I would die. All I was fighting for was to live a little longer. I couldn't win. None of us could. None of us did. I continued to fight but without hope of victory. Then... I lay in the trees, listening as our brothers died. I didn't go back because it was... The only thing I could achieve was not to die. Since then...” he trailed off.

“Since then?” Porthos prodded gently.

“Since then, I've clung to that. That's all I could do. I thought I was supposed to die in that forest and if I let... I cheated God's will in that forest by surviving so if I put myself in that situation again, I'd die... Like I was supposed to,” Aramis finished quietly.

Porthos kissed Aramis' hair again and waited several minutes before speaking again.

“And now, love?”

“I think I  **survived**  because I was supposed to. I think Marsac saving my life was a gift from God. I think you are my reason for living.”

“I don't think I'm your only reason, lover,” Porthos said quietly.

“For now you are and that's enough to be going on with,” Aramis said quietly, nestling into Porthos' side.

  
  


They spent a long time sat under that tree in silence, their long legs stretched out in front of them. Porthos felt Aramis dozing under his arm. Porthos watched the horses grazing thoughtfully. He wasn't the only thing Aramis had in life to live for. He had his duty and his life in Paris. Porthos understood, however, it might take time for those things to seem important. It was enough for now he'd found something to live for.

  
  


Aramis jerked awake with a start. He laughed to find one of the horses had made its way over to them and was nudging his boot on her search for the tastiest grass. He felt Porthos startled awake by his laughter. He felt Porthos' deep chuckle reverberating through his back as he saw the mare, too.

“I believe someone thinks it's time to go, Porthos,” Aramis said, pushing himself upright. Porthos yawned, his jaw clicking as he did so. Aramis stood and straightened his braces. He was distracted as he watched Porthos stretch to his full height. As he raised his arms to stretch, his shirt rose up and Aramis caught a glimpse of the bruised lines his nails left.

He darted close to Porthos and held his shirt up to look. Porthos blinked in surprise and helpfully held his shirt up.

“Still vivid, then?” he said grinning. Porthos laughed.

“Yep. Those ones don't hurt, though. My thighs don't hurt any more, either. My neck still does though,” Porthos replied brightly. It was Aramis' turn to laugh.

“You sound almost disappointed, my love,” he said slyly. Aramis pressed himself up against Porthos, leaning in close to him. He pushed his body weight onto Porthos until he was forced to take a step backwards.

Porthos' back bumped into the tree they'd been sat against and he saw Aramis' sly expression. He raised his eyebrow as Aramis again pressed the entire length of his body against Porthos'.

“You know that drives me crazy,” he murmured, leaning down and pressing his lips against Aramis'. Aramis pulled his head back and gazed innocently at Porthos.

“So, my love,” began Aramis.

Porthos interrupted by kissing him. Porthos pulled Aramis hard against him and devoured his mouth in a searing kiss. Aramis felt white hot heat rush through his body, lighting him on fire instantly. He moaned into Porthos' mouth and moulded himself to to the body against the tree.

“I love it when you make that noise,” growled Porthos against Aramis' mouth. Aramis arched his back and grinned.

“Normally you love it when I shut up!”

“Oh no no no,” murmured Porthos, kissing Aramis lightly. “I love it when you moan,” he added, kissing him again. “I love it when you sigh,” Porthos said, placing a kiss on Aramis' neck. “I love it when you whine,” he continued, kissing under his ear. “And I  **love**  it when you whimper,” he finished, kissing Aramis' bite mark firmly.

Aramis whimpered involuntarily and was met by a deep chuckle. Porthos kept kissing and began nipping slightly along the line of Aramis' jaw. Porthos' hands began to move in lazy circles on Aramis' back. Aramis smirked to himself.

“Dinner?” he asked brightly. Porthos frowned, slightly startled at this abrupt decision to leave. He grumbled quietly, and pressed Aramis closer to him. He nuzzled Aramis' neck.

“Dinner now? Really? You can't think of anything else to do instead? Even something that wouldn't take too long? Something fun? Something to work up a good appetite?” Porthos asked softly, breathing each word across Aramis' neck.

“No, I think not, my love,” said Aramis, leaning back. “I believe our earlier activities have worn us out far too much and we really do need to get some food. I mean really, my dear Porthos, we both fell asleep! We're clearly far too tired to continue!”

Porthos grumbled again, running his hand through Aramis' dark waves.

“Not tired now,” he mumbled, nuzzling Aramis' ear. It took all of Aramis' willpower not to shudder as the warmth breath passed over his skin.

Instead, Aramis firmly gripped the back of Porthos' neck and pulled him in close for another blazing kiss. Aramis pressed Porthos back against the tree, leaning his body weight in and making sure his lean, flexible body was as close as possible, from top to bottom. Porthos murmured his approval and clutched the back of Aramis' shirt to hold him close.

Aramis found the small raised scabs on Porthos' neck with his fingertips and dug his nails in suddenly. Porthos grunted and Aramis felt Porthos' fists clench on his back. He released his nails and quickly broke away from the kiss, leaving Porthos panting slightly.

“I want to go now,” Aramis said, pouting at Porthos and moving his hips slightly where they were pressed against Porthos.

“I don't,” muttered Porthos, moving his hand to Aramis' bottom and holding him tight against his own pelvis. Aramis obligingly ground his hips against Porthos' and felt the deep rumble of approval from the broad chest. Porthos pressed his lips against Aramis' ear and nipped lightly at the sensitive skin.

Aramis again dug into the back of Porthos' neck without warning, feeling the delicate healing skin break again under his nails. Porthos growled in pain and released his grip on Aramis' back, the sound vibrating through Aramis' own body. Porthos dropped his forehead onto Aramis' shoulder and gasped as Aramis removed his nails.

“Shh, shh,” crooned Aramis softly, stroking the back of Porthos' neck. He felt his cock twitch as he noticed a thin streak of blood on his fingers. He smiled to himself as he felt Porthos press his forehead against Aramis' neck in search of comfort. “There, there,” he murmured, running his hand gently through Porthos' curls.

Porthos started to nuzzle against Aramis' neck, pressing gentle kisses against him. Aramis sighed loudly.

“Porthos?” he asked quietly.

“Mmm?” replied Porthos without looking up, his hands moving down to cup Aramis' curved buttocks and again press him closer.

“Porthos,” Aramis said sharply, tugging his hair.

Porthos lifted his head to look at Aramis. He felt his stomach lurch at the beautiful but dangerous glimmer in his friend's normally kind eyes.

“Yes?” he asked warily, his hands moving up to rest lightly on Aramis' waist.

“Just a thought I had,” Aramis replied lightly, extricating himself from Porthos' grasp. Porthos swallowed a groan.

Aramis walked slowly to the horses, letting his hips sway as he went. He glanced back over his shoulder and was pleased to see a definite tightness to Porthos' breeches.

Porthos picked up Aramis' weapons and followed him. He rested them on the back of Aramis' horse before returning and retrieving his own. Aramis licked his lips at the gesture.

Aramis shrugged his coat on, flicking the collar up and settling it on his shoulders. He looked up to find Porthos gazing at him.

“What?” he asked, smiling.

“Just one of those things you do that make me love you,” Porthos replied simply.

Aramis beamed and picked up his sash. Porthos watched the familiar movements as Aramis wrapped it round his hips, his eyes following the line of blue. He watched Aramis' long nimble fingers securing it at his waist and was immediately transported to seeing it wrapped around his wrists, holding him down. He stared at Aramis hungrily.

Aramis felt his eyes on him and looked up. He saw the predatory look. Aramis simply lifted his fingers to his mouth and very obviously licked Porthos' blood off them. Porthos touched his own fingers to the cuts and found the cuts sticky with freshly dried blood. Aramis smirked and watched the wolfish grin on Porthos' face slide off like water on a window pane.

The two men finished dressing in silence, shooting flirty smiles to each other.

Porthos found himself increasingly frustrated watching the sensual Aramis move around. His neck tingled painfully, especially when he put his doublet on, the leather brushing the cuts. When he winced, Aramis looked up and licked his fingers again, that cruel twinkle in his eye again. Porthos' stomach gave another nervous lurch. He found he both loved and hated how easily Aramis turned him on. He loved the man and found him unbelievably sexy but his game of turning Porthos on and leaving him was growing increasingly exasperating. The fact that each and every time Aramis did something to tease him, Porthos grew even more aroused was just confounding his frustration.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aramis has a little fun

The two men trotted into the stables in Pinon a couple of hours after dark, having taken the long way round to enjoy the ride. The stable boy took their reins. Aramis swung his long legs over the mare and hopped down lightly. Porthos got down slowly, his breeches still uncomfortably tight having had the pleasure and irritation of Aramis rubbing his knee against Porthos' as they walked back. Even when they galloped down the hill, Aramis had made very loud remarks about watching Porthos raising himself in the saddle.

They strode into the inn, laughing with one another about who had won the race down the hill. The room fell silent as they entered. The two men paused inside the doorway, taking their hats off.

"Such a friendly place," muttered Aramis darkly.

"Very chatty," replied Porthos quietly, taking Aramis' hat and cloak and hanging them by the door.

Porthos gestured to an empty table against the wall. Aramis walked to the table while Porthos strode to the bar. Aramis looked around curiously as he propped his arquebus up against the end of the bench and laid his pistol down beside him. Flicking his sword to the side, he sat down, taking his gloves off slowly. Porthos sat down opposite him and passed him a cup of wine. Porthos laid his own pistols on the table and looked over his shoulder.

Porthos looked back suddenly at Aramis as he felt Aramis' legs stretch out and unmistakeably press themselves between Porthos'. Aramis, however, was looking around the room and sipping his wine.

"I've asked for some food. Mutton stew is available, apparently," said Porthos, looking intensely at the seemingly distracted Aramis.

"Sounds lovely," he said. Aramis tilted his head and gave Porthos a winning smile. Porthos felt his legs pushed wider apart under the table by Aramis and co-operated by leaving them where Aramis left them. Aramis nudged them again and Porthos set his feet as far apart as he comfortably could. Aramis nodded and withdrew his own legs.

"So what shall we do tomorrow, my love? I don't much like the idea of staying here. It's not exactly vibrant and yet it doesn't relax me in the slightest," said Aramis, making no comment to his positioning Porthos. Porthos looked at him in confusion. Aramis turned his head back to look at Porthos who was frowning at him. He used the heel of his boot to press warningly against Porthos' foot. Porthos raised his eyebrow, not understanding.

"I like your legs there. There they will stay," Aramis said, leaning low over the table.

"And?" asked Porthos warily.

"And nothing. I want them there. Let's have a nice evening, shall we?" Aramis replied, a hint of warning creeping into his voice as he pressed his boot heel down.

Porthos nodded, still wary but accepting Aramis' directive.

“So,” said Aramis brightly. “Tomorrow, then?”

“The Saint-Gobain forest is not far from here. Shall we venture off the beaten track a little?” suggested Porthos, relaxing a little but not moving his legs.

“We camped on the way here,” said Aramis hesitantly.

“In a place we knew. In a very large clearing. Close to Paris,” countered Porthos gently. Aramis nodded.

“OK,” Aramis said pleasantly.

Porthos studied his face carefully across the table.

Porthos reached across the table and took Aramis' hand. Aramis glanced warningly around the room.

“It's just your hand,” Porthos murmured. Aramis relaxed and looked at the broad dark hand covering his own pale one. “What is it, Aramis?”

“Just the forest,” murmured Aramis guardedly. Porthos shook his head.

“There's something else,” Porthos said flatly.

“Later,” said Aramis quickly, withdrawing his hand as the innkeeper arrived with their stew and some bread.

“So,” said Porthos, picking up his spoon. “Camping?”

Aramis glanced up at Porthos through his eyelashes and scowled.

“What if we fall asleep?” he asked.

“We can set up watches. We've managed it in the past. I don't want to distress you, Aramis, but you gotta do it. You gotta get used to it again,” Porthos said quietly. Aramis took a deep breath and nodded. They lapsed into one of their comfortable silences while they both devoured the surprisingly good stew.

“More wine?” Aramis asked, pushing his empty bowl back. Porthos nodded and stood up to get some.

When he returned, Aramis had moved along the bench and looked pointedly at the seat next to him. Porthos smiled and slid onto the bench next to Aramis. No sooner had he sat down, he felt Aramis step slowly on his foot, digging his heel into the soft leather. He looked sideways at Aramis.

“I liked your legs there,” he whispered threateningly.

“I was getting you wine,” Porthos protested in a low voice.

“You didn't ask. I asked if you wanted some. I did not tell you that you may move your legs to get some,” Aramis murmured.

Aramis watched with satisfaction as heat rushed to Porthos' cheeks. He smirked knowingly, correctly guessing that a rush of blood had gone elsewhere as well. They lapsed back into silence as Aramis slowly sipped his wine, feeling Porthos' eyes on him constantly.

“Yeees?” he asked slowly after a while, turning to look at Porthos.

“Your hand,” Porthos grunted quietly. Aramis looked down in mock surprise. He had gradually been moving up Porthos' thigh under the table and he had begun slowly massaging Porthos through his breeches.

“Goodness me!” he murmured. He removed his hand slowly and replaced it on the table. “I  **do**  apologise my dear friend.”

Porthos made a strangled noise in his throat.

“What is it, now?” asked Aramis, taking Porthos' hand in his own. Porthos just glared at him.

“Bedtime,” growled Porthos.

“Nonsense, my friend,” cried Aramis. I'm sure there must be some cards here somewhere. Perhaps they have some behind the bar?” Aramis suggested. Porthos scowled at him.

“Why don't you go and ask them?” queried Aramis. Porthos glared darkly at Aramis. Aramis found his heart skipped a beat with the indecision in Porthos' eyes.

“Oh my poor Porthos,” he murmured, squeezing his hand gently. “You're such a good b-... friend,” Aramis said teasingly. “You want to serve me but know you're not  _allowed_  to move,” he continued, murmuring quietly.

Porthos nodded silently, clenching his jaw.

“Would you  _like_  to be allowed to move so you can get cards for us?” Aramis continued, silkily. Porthos nodded again. “Very well then, fetch us some cards please, my friend.”

Porthos stood slowly, ensuring his doublet covered the strained part of his breeches. He returned quickly with the cards and paused at the table, raising an eyebrow at Aramis. Aramis nodded at the seat opposite him, his own cock hardening at the voluntary submission from his very own warrior.

As he sat down, Aramis cleared his throat. Porthos spread his legs under the table and raised his eyebrows. Aramis nodded and smiled. Porthos grinned broadly in return and began to shuffle the cards.

  
  


They played only a few hands of cards, their banter becoming more and more sexually charged. A lot of playful threats were made, double edged comments and many many remarks about payback. Aramis cut them off after only three cups of wine. He had seemingly decided they had enough in the woods and with dinner. The bar emptied relatively early. The two men assumed it was due to whatever upset was causing the whole village to be so jumpy. They also decided to take their leave at an early hour.

Porthos fetched their hats and cloaks from beside the door while Aramis gathered up their guns. As they entered their room Aramis lit the candles by the bed and Porthos turned from Aramis to hang their cloaks and hats up. Porthos swallowed nervously as he heard the click of Aramis locking the door behind them.

He felt Aramis walk up behind him and found himself rooted to the spot.

“Porthos, my love,” Aramis said quietly, gently tugging off Porthos' bandanna.

“Mmm?” Porthos mumbled.

Aramis ran his hands through Porthos' thick curls and turning him round slowly to face him and wrapping his arms around his shoulders.

“Why do you like pain?” he asked suddenly, using both hands to pull Porthos' head back.

Porthos grunted, his hands gripping the back of Aramis' coat. Aramis waited a few seconds before tugging Porthos' hair again. Porthos grunted again and flicked his eyes to meet Aramis'. Porthos felt an immediate lurch in his stomach at the determined glint in Aramis' eye.

“I don't know,” Porthos answered honestly.

“But it's definitely the pain you like?” Aramis answered, dropping one hand to stroke Porthos' arm, leaving the other wound loosely in Porthos' curls.

“Not alone but yes, the pain itself is enjoyable,” he answered, relaxing his grip on Aramis' coat.

“So it's not purely sexual then?” Aramis asked, pressing his weight into Porthos briefly, making his meaning clear. Porthos shook his head. Aramis leaned in to whisper in Porthos' ear. “Turn around, my love,”

Porthos raised his eyebrows at Aramis, who nodded. Porthos swallowed again and obeyed.

Aramis reached around and undid Porthos' belt, knowing without looking where the buckle sat. Porthos inhaled sharply, watching his lover's dexterous fingers removing his belts. Gradually he removed all of Porthos' accoutrements and gently drew Porthos' doublet from his shoulders, sliding it off. Aramis stepped away, leaving Porthos for a moment. Porthos listened intently, recognising the familiar noises of Aramis removing his own belts. He listened to the items one by one. His belt, his powder, his musket balls, his arquebus strap, his sash, his coat. Porthos felt him stepping closer and smiled.

Aramis watched Porthos carefully, smiling at the way he was turning his head a fraction of an inch to follow him round the room. He paused as he walked closer, watching him relax. He leaned slightly to the side to see Porthos had his eyes closed and was smiling. He wrapped his arms around Porthos' waist.

"What's amused you, my love?" he asked quietly.

"I feel you coming," Porthos answered simply, his smile widening.

"Hmm?" Aramis murmured questioningly.

"I can pick you out in a dark room. In a crowded garrison. If I went blind, I would still find you in a crowd," Porthos answered, without embarrassment.

Aramis beamed.

"I feel that, too. I know when you're watching me. I know when you enter the yard. I feel you on the battlefield. My whole body sings when you're close."

Porthos leaned back against Aramis and sighed softly. Aramis stroked his stomach gently and kissed the side of his neck. He moved his mouth round to the back of Porthos' neck and gently licked the dried blood away. He felt Porthos shiver. Aramis unlaced Porthos' breeches and pushed them gently down over his hips, leaving his underwear in place.

“Sit,” he said tenderly, gesturing at the wooden chair beside them. Porthos sat obediently. Aramis crouched and gently removed Porthos' heavy boots. Porthos flexed his fingers, completely off-guard. Aramis smiled at the involuntary tic. He stood and tugged Porthos to his feet.

Aramis sauntered over to the bed, unable to resist keeping Porthos uncertain. He sat on the edge of the bed and pointed at his boots. Porthos crossed to him in two quick strides and sank to his knees. Porthos gently pulled Aramis' boots down his legs. Aramis smiled to see his hands trembling slightly as his fingers brushed Aramis' knees.

Aramis reached out a hand and gently cradled Porthos' chin, tilting his face up. Aramis leaned forward and kissed him gently.

“I am so proud of you when you do this for me, my love,” he said. Porthos blinked at him in surprise. “When you give yourself to me. Your strong, resilient, passionate self. It makes me so proud that you do it without hesitation and without shame.” Aramis kissed him again. “I love you, Porthos. I love everything you are, everything you've done, everything you've been through. I love all of it. And I love you with everything I am.”

Porthos gazed at him, uncharacteristically tearful. He opened his mouth to speak and Aramis placed his finger across Porthos' lips.

“You understand, my love? You understand I love you more than life itself?”

Porthos nodded silently. Aramis smiled and gestured for Porthos to continue. Porthos sniffed quietly and pulled his boots off gently. He leaned over and placed them neatly at the end of the bed. Aramis stood in front of Porthos and looked at him expectantly.

Porthos smiled and reached up with trembling fingers to loosen Aramis' breeches. He laid his fingers on the laces of Aramis' underclothes and glanced up at Aramis. Aramis nodded. Porthos unlaced them, too, and gently pushed both garments down over Aramis' slender hips. Aramis sighed softly and stroked the black curls lightly.

As his cock was uncovered, Aramis heard a hitch in Porthos' breathing. He smiled to himself and sat back down. Porthos nuzzled his knee for a second before gently removing both garments. Aramis watched, amused, as Porthos couldn't help himself tidying. He separated the two garments, folded them quickly and lay them over Aramis' boots. He glanced up sheepishly at Aramis who simply smiled at him.

Porthos knelt silently in his shorts and gazed at the floor. Aramis tugged Porthos' hair gently and guided his mouth to his semi-hard cock. Porthos followed willingly and Aramis let go of him.

Porthos reached out with the tip of his tongue and slowly ran across the pale skin of Aramis' member. Porthos let out an involuntary shudder. He'd been dreaming of this for three years. He gently cradled Aramis in his hand to take him into his mouth.

Aramis sighed contentedly and stroked Porthos' head lightly. He glanced down and marvelled at the beautiful man between his legs. It made his heart soar and his cock twitch to see the dark bulky form of Porthos folded to the floor at his feet.

Porthos felt Aramis' eyes on him, as he always did, and glanced up. The look of utter devotion and worship in Porthos' eyes made Aramis breathless and he quickly grew to full hardness in Porthos' mouth.

“No more hands,” he whispered, stroking Porthos' hair again. Porthos immediately dropped his hand. Aramis leaned back on his elbows as Porthos began to move his mouth up and down on Aramis' considerable length.

Sensing Aramis' mood, Porthos kept his movements languid and smooth. He found a nice rhythm after a little trial and error. Too slow and Aramis wasn't responding but too fast and he became less relaxed. Porthos smiled around him as Aramis moaned lightly.

Aramis was thoroughly enjoy being utterly worshipped like this. He was finding Porthos wonderfully attentive. Each time Aramis reacted to a slightly new angle or a different movement of Porthos' tongue, he seemed to be taking notes.

Porthos neck was beginning to ache after such a long time but he wouldn't have traded positions for all the world. Aramis had sat back upright and one of his hands was now rested lightly on the top of Porthos' hair. Porthos relaxed himself slightly and began to move deeper onto Aramis, concentrating, letting Aramis slip into his throat slightly on the occasional stroke.

Aramis groaned, feeling Porthos open up to him. It was something no woman had ever managed since he was so long. It took a lot of willpower not to thrust against Porthos' mouth.

Porthos appreciated the freedom Aramis was giving him. He raised up on his knees slightly and continued to move deeper on each stroke. He began to massage the underside of Aramis' length with his tongue. Aramis moaned above him as he finally managed to envelope Aramis into his throat entirely.

Aramis could scarcely believe the sensation. The warmth, the tightness, the all consuming feeling. He felt Porthos' facial hair tickling his pelvis and found himself light headed with the sensation. He closed his hand on Porthos' hair and moaned again.

Porthos held himself there for as long as he dared. He slowly lifted his mouth off Aramis, gasping for breath.

Aramis moaned again, the noise of Porthos gasping being utter joy to his ears. Porthos immediately lowered his mouth onto Aramis again, panting around his member. Aramis arched his hips, pushing himself into Porthos' mouth.

Porthos understood the message and took him into his throat again. Aramis gasped and clutched at Porthos' hair. Porthos took his whole length into his throat again and swallowed. Aramis moaned deeply and held his head there for a few seconds. He felt Porthos begin to fidget and immediately released him. Porthos found himself light-headed and wasn't sure if it was simply lack of breath or he was just high on Aramis.

Aramis moaned again and his hips rose without conscious thought.

Porthos sensed the time for leisurely pace was over and he sacrificed taking Aramis into his throat for quicker movements. He kept his tongue pressed firmly against the underside of Aramis' cock and moved quicker and quicker.

Aramis groaned again, laying both his hands on Porthos' head without pulling.

“Porthos,” Aramis gasped. “My Porthos, my beautiful Porthos,” he chanted. Porthos moaned around Aramis' cock hearing the way his name passed his lover's lips like a prayer.

Aramis felt his skin all over tingling and pulled hard on Porthos' head, forcing himself into Porthos' throat. He gasped as he felt himself release with Porthos pressed firmly against his pelvis. He held Porthos there for a long few moments while he shuddered against him. When finally he felt he had no more to give, Aramis let go of Porthos' hair.

Porthos gulped in air desperately, his vision clearing. He had been seconds from losing consciousness. He quickly took Aramis back into his mouth and sucked very gently until his member relaxed entirely. He gently let go of Aramis and pressed a loving kiss to his softened cock.

Only once Aramis was finally sated did he let himself concentrate on his breathing to get it back under control.

Aramis had fallen back on the bed, sprawled out. He laughed breathlessly and squeezed his legs together around Porthos. Porthos nuzzled Aramis' thigh.

“Mmmm, my lovely Porthos,” murmured Aramis drowsily. After a few more seconds, Aramis heaved himself to a sitting position. He gazed down at Porthos to find him resting his head on Aramis' inner thigh, a look of sheer bliss on his face. Porthos looked up at Aramis and smiled.

Aramis finally pushed himself sideways onto the bed properly and patted the mattress. Porthos hopped up and lay down beside Aramis. They each lay on their side facing each other.

They remained like that for a long time. Time seemed to stop for them both. They simply gazed at each other, studying each other's faces. Occasionally they traded feather-light kisses and whispered declarations of love. They breathed each other's names like they were poetry.

Porthos found himself feeling blinded. It was like stepping into a blazing hot tavern after being out in the field for days. He'd been on his own for decades. He'd become cold. Aramis had melted it all and it was almost painful. He loved him with an all consuming fervour that made him dizzy. He watched those beautiful eyes crinkle when he smiled, watched his moustache twitch when he was amused, saw his eyebrows, so beautifully crafted yet amazingly expressive.

Aramis was struggling to believe love could be this good. He'd always been one to make friends easily. He wasn't distant or aloof like Porthos was but he never let himself trust again since Isabelle. He didn't trust people not to leave him. Porthos wouldn't. He knew that. Deep in his soul, he knew that. Porthos was his other half. The part of him he never knew was missing.

After a long time of gazing at each other by candlelight they each began to get drowsy. Aramis turned over and pulled Porthos' arm around his own waist. Porthos quickly shuffled forwards and pressed himself against Aramis' back. Aramis smiled and reached behind him to gently cradle Porthos' cock through his under-clothes. Porthos nuzzled the back of Aramis' neck gently. Aramis just chuckled and removed his hand, instead pressing his backside against Porthos.

Porthos groaned at the frustrating feel of Aramis being so close but still having a fabric barrier. Having been so turned on and not given any contact, he rose to semi-hardness within seconds of Aramis' warm bottom pressed against his oh so sensitive cock. Aramis began to move slightly, it only taking a few more moments for Porthos to reach full hardness.

Aramis hummed happily and leaned forward to blow the candle out. Porthos rolled back slightly and did the same on his side. Aramis gyrated once more against Porthos' hard cock and relaxed to go to sleep. Porthos groaned in frustration and was answered by a low sexy chuckle in the darkness.

 


	18. Everybody is hurt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aramis finds scars he hasn't seen before on Porthos

Aramis woke suddenly. He had been back in the forest. Porthos had been wounded and Marsac was about to shoot him.

He looked round and saw Porthos sprawled on his stomach, snoring into the pillow. He got up quietly and opened the shutter. Dawn had only just broken. From where he was, he could see the stable boy already up and mucking out their horses.

Aramis turned back to the bed and chuckled as Porthos grunted in his sleep. Aramis lay down beside him and watched him for a few minutes. The sunlight on his back caught Aramis' eye.

Where the light hit Porthos' skin there were faint criss crossing lines. His normal skin tone hiding them, it was only under the sun Aramis could see them. Slowly, without waking him, Aramis pulled the sheet down to reveal more of his skin. Aramis gasped and saw the true extent of them. They started just below his shoulder blades and criss-crossed all the way down. He could see them going down below the waistband of his underwear.

Aramis stood up suddenly and began to pace. He felt sick. How had he not known about this? He circled round the bed and saw the pattern of scars crossing above and beside the scar Aramis' own hands left. How did he not notice?

He suddenly remembered Porthos refusing to let him dress the wound after the initial stitching. Aramis wouldn't have noticed while trying to save his life. He was furious with himself. Here was Porthos accepting all his burdens and sharing all his upsets but Aramis wasn't helping Porthos carry his.

He walked back round and lay down beside Porthos. He ran his hand lightly over Porthos' back. They either couldn't be felt or there were just so many none stood out. He concentrated this time and could pick a few out with his fingertips but the sheer amount of them baffled Aramis.

Porthos grunted as he woke. He lifted his head and turned it over to peer at Aramis. His face broke into a wide, sleepy smile at the sight of Aramis gazing at him. He closed one eye and squinted at Aramis. Something was wrong.

“Love?” he asked groggily.

Aramis ran his hand over Porthos' back thoughtfully. Porthos yawned.

"Your scars, Porthos," said Aramis softly. Porthos tensed under Aramis' hand. "How did you get them?"

Porthos didn't answer. Aramis sat quietly, slightly unsure how to proceed. Just as he was beginning to worry, he saw Porthos take a deep breath.

"Battle," Porthos said bluntly.

"These are not battle scars, my love," Aramis said quietly, running his palm over them.

The two men lay for a long minute in silence. Porthos had retreated into himself and Aramis simply waited patiently. Porthos flicked his eyes to Aramis' face just for a second. His kind loving eyes were simply watching him carefully. There was no hint of pressure, no aggression, just patience. He didn't understand what Aramis was doing. Porthos' closed his eyes for a second, beginning to panic.

"Porthos?"

Porthos ignored Aramis, his eyes snapping open to stare determinedly anywhere but Aramis' face.

Aramis thought carefully about how to deal with this. He knew Porthos. He knew this was Porthos beginning to panic and when Porthos panicked, he shut down entirely.

Porthos," he said again. "I understand you're struggling, my love. If I talk, will you answer yes and no for me?"

Porthos nodded stiffly without meeting Aramis' eyes.

"I think you got those scars in the Court," he began quietly. Porthos nodded once, his hands clenching."I think you were taken advantage of and hurt when you lived there," he continued. Porthos ground his teeth together. "I think you were young."

Aramis paused, watching Porthos' jaw working.

"Porthos?" he prompted. Porthos nodded once. Aramis backed off slightly, watching a vein in Porthos' neck throbbing.

"I think since then you have spent your entire life protecting people. I think that's why you became a soldier. I think that's why you've done all of this for me. I think it's why you're such a good Musketeer," he said with a smile.

Porthos flicked his eyes up to meet Aramis' and nodded once again. Aramis thought for a moment about what to do.

"I'm going to need a bit more from you in these questions, my love," Aramis said softly. Porthos met his eyes again for a second. "I'm not actually asking, Porthos. I'm telling you what I need," Aramis continued, tenderly. Porthos winced and nodded slowly.

“You know I enjoy hurting you?”

“Yes,” croaked Porthos, his mouth dry.

“You enjoy me hurting you?”

“Yes.”

“You enjoy serving me? Fetching, carrying, doing as I say?”

Porthos nodded. Aramis paused.

“Would you enjoy those things if I didn't?”

Porthos frowned at him.

“I- I don't understand,” Porthos said clumsily.

“If I were doing those things just to please you, would you still enjoy it?”

“No,” said Porthos sincerely. Aramis gave himself a mental pat on the back seeing Porthos beginning to open up. He found his mouth dry suddenly.

“Do you enjoy doing the things I like you to do to me?” he asked quietly. “Specifically, the... shaming acts I crave.”

Porthos watched Aramis carefully.

“I do,” whispered Porthos.

“Would it make sense to you for me to say that I hide those cravings well? That I am confident and bold enough that the secret part of me is well hidden?”

“Yes,” Porthos said, with a smile.

“Do you think there's anything wrong with those feelings?” Aramis asked gently.

Porthos shook his head vehemently.

“Do you think I should be ashamed of how I've reacted to Savoy?”

Porthos blinked at the seeming change of topic.

“Of course not,” he said earnestly.

“Why are you ashamed of those scars, my love?” Aramis asked.

“I- they-” Porthos fell silent. He moved to sit up but Aramis pushed him down gently. “It wasn't until you I realised it could be achieved in a loving way,” Porthos said in a rush.

Aramis was quiet for a moment and thought about what he said.

“You put yourself into situations where whippings and cuttings would be the result in order to meet those needs in yourself?” he surmised. Porthos nodded. “Any lasting damage?” he asked curiously.

“None. Kept it all superficial. I couldn't- It lacked something. I didn't tolerate it.”

Aramis nodded and smiled down at Porthos.

“You aren't- You don't mind?” Porthos asked, slightly shocked.

“What did I tell you last night?”

“That you love me. You love everything I've done, everything I've been through and everything I am,” Porthos answered instantly, the words burned onto his heart.

Aramis smiled and nudged Porthos in the ribs. Porthos rolled up and onto his side and Aramis smiled and stretched himself out against Porthos. He snuggled against Porthos' chest and pressed their pelvises together. He felt Porthos' confusion.

“Do you doubt my words, my darling?” asked Aramis.

“I don't mean to, my love,” Porthos murmured, gazing quietly into Aramis' warm eyes. He reached up to stroke Aramis' hair. “I've always been ashamed of letting myself be hurt, kept that part of me frozen. I knew I'd gone about it the wrong way and wasn't...” Porthos trailed off, lost for words.

“You didn't value yourself enough?” Aramis asked quietly. Porthos nodded. “And now?” he asked, stroking Porthos' chest.

“And now I am beginning to see myself in your eyes,” Porthos replied, lifting Aramis' hand to his mouth and kissing his palm lightly.

Aramis grinned and rolled them both over, pushing Porthos onto his back. Aramis propped himself up on his elbow and ran his hand over Porthos' stomach and chest. Porthos smiled lazily and watched Aramis' face.

“Looking for more?” he asked. Aramis laughed and nodded. "They're all on my back. Everything on the front is you." Aramis ran his fingers over the bruises that were still visible on his stomach.

He trailed his hand lower and played at the waistband of Porthos' underwear. Porthos kissed Aramis suddenly and rolled them back over, hovering over Aramis' naked body. He looked down the length of Aramis' body and smiled.

“You are so beautiful it hurts,” he murmured, kissing Aramis' ear. Aramis laughed and trailed his hands up and down Porthos' arms. Porthos grinned and heaved himself to his feet to answer nature's call. Returning to Aramis he gazed at his lover.

He was sat up against the headboard, the sheet loosely arranged over his lap. His hair was dishevelled and he was wearing the sexy arrogant smirk Porthos loved so much. Aramis raked his eyes hungrily up and down Porthos' chest and Porthos felt a sudden jolt to his cock.

Aramis smirked knowingly. He got out of bed and sauntered over to Porthos, utterly confident in his nudity. He stretched, his arms out above his head, his back slightly arched and sighed. Porthos grumbled and reached out for him. Aramis stepped out of reach, gently brushing Porthos' clothed groin with his fingers. Porthos grumbled. Aramis chuckled and threw Porthos' shirt at him.

“You are such a tease,” he mumbled, reluctantly getting dressed.

 


	19. Cleaning the wound again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Musketeers head into the forest and the pain of Savoy comes flooding back in an unexpected way.

They breakfasted leisurely. They'd consulted one of their maps earlier and found what they thought might be a good camp site roughly 15 miles from where they were. There was an abandoned priory beside a small body of water on the east side of the forest they intended to aim for. Their horses were quite laden but since they'd managed to travel without a carriage they'd be able to make 15 miles quite easily. They finally packed up and left, leaving the village in peace.

“We never did ask about the man Tréville is meeting,” Aramis remarked as they rode out the village together. The weather had turned slightly colder so both Musketeers were wearing their thick cloaks.

“I don't think anyone would have talked to us,” said Porthos. “I don't reckon it was anything too bad or we'd have noticed.”

“Would we?” asked Aramis slyly, looking sideways at his lover. Porthos laughed loudly, the sound bouncing off the trees around them. Aramis smiled at the sound.

“Are you implying I'd neglect my duty as a King's Musketeers for you?” he teased.

“I would never imply such a thing, my love,” said Aramis, his hand on his heart. “You are the most stalwart, honourable and dedicated man I know.”

Porthos raised an eyebrow at him.

“But...” he said expectantly.

“But...” Aramis agreed, letting his horse drift closer. Porthos rolled his eyes, having put up with Aramis stroking his knee the day before. Aramis brazenly reach out and cupped Porthos, his fingers finding the bulge easily. “You **have** seemed like something has distracted you.” Porthos' cock immediately began to stir, still sensitive from Aramis' repeated teasing.

“Are you trying to drive me to madness, love?” Porthos asked, grinning as Aramis withdrew his hand.

“I just think you're incredibly sexy when you're waiting for me,” he said simply. Porthos felt himself twitch in his clothes and sighed happily. Aramis was utterly intoxicating.

They stopped to rest the horses after several miles. They took the opportunity to practice duelling. This was actually a practice to both. It wasn't often they fought in their heavy cloaks and while they would usually shed them before a fight, it was always a good idea to practice.

Porthos smiled inwardly, watching Aramis. He'd always found the sight of watching Aramis fight cloak and rapier utterly beautiful. He always moved the cloak so easily, as if it were part of his arm. Porthos found himself wondering if it was because he was used to his coat flapping around his knees that he wasn't distracted by the cloth like others were.

Porthos' concentration slipped and Aramis lunged easily, tapping his waist with the side of his blade. Porthos laughed, slightly breathless.

“Now, Porthos,” Aramis scolded, sheathing his sword and throwing his cloak up and over his shoulder. “You must concentrate.”

Porthos sheathed his own sword and pulled Aramis in to his arms. He glanced around since they were still on the road before kissing Aramis gently. They stepped apart quite naturally to remount their horses and continue their journey.

“What distracted you,” he asked suddenly, as he settled in the saddle.

Porthos frowned and thought back.

“I was admiring you,” he answered thoughtfully. They fell silent, regarding each other.

“We'll have to make a conscious effort, my love, to be more careful when we're back in Paris,” said Aramis.

“Agreed,” grunted Porthos.

“I'd also like you to move into my apartments. I don't believe I'm being presumptive by saying we'll be spending the nights together from now on. I think it would raise less questions if we share apartments. It's not uncommon. Aubin and Maurice share apartments near the town square. Better living space but we split the cost of rent. It makes excellent sense for public reasons and I think it will make our private ones easier to conceal,” Aramis said, self-assuredly. He noticed Porthos staring at him, mouth agape.

“Objections?” asked Aramis.

“None,” replied Porthos. “Just taken off-guard by it. I think we'll need somewhere a bit bigger. Somewhere we can fit a second single bed for appearances sake.”

Aramis nodded.

“I agree. I'm glad you didn't argue. It's most unbecoming for a wife to resist moving into her husband's home,” Aramis said, tipping his hat to Porthos. Porthos laughed again.

Early afternoon they reached the rough area they were intending to camp in and began to search for somewhere suitable. They finally settled on the north west bank of the lake behind the abandoned Tortoir priory. They quickly unloaded the horses and removed all their equipment, tying a quick halter on each. They rubbed their horses down and groomed them quietly. Porthos could feel Aramis beginning to tense at the isolation.

“Love?” he asked quietly. Aramis was crooning softly to his mare, hand feeding her one of the apples from their bags. Aramis looked round at Porthos.

“I'm OK, my love,” he assured Porthos. “Just a little bit uneasy. Nothing too bad, though. I worry for later,” he added honestly.

Porthos nodded. He smiled watching Aramis with his horse. Porthos had great confidence in his own horsemanship but watching Aramis with animals was always enjoyable. His soft, quiet voice was naturally calming.

After a good hour, their horses were clean and comfortable. They put a blanket on each and tied them loosely to a tree near the lake. Once again they put them on a long tether so they could move around.

Aramis bit his lip, watching them eating their feed. Porthos raised an eyebrow.

“I think we should give them a rest day tomorrow,” he said quietly. Porthos nodded.

“Probably a good idea. Only if you're good though, love. If not, we can ride over to Saint-Gobain and rest them there instead. OK? You'll tell me if you need to move on?”

Aramis nodded, touched by this consideration.

Porthos glanced at the sky, estimating they still had a couple of hours of daylight left. He began work on the tent and glanced at Aramis, who was stood watching the horses.

“Wood for a fire?” he suggested. Aramis frowned. Porthos whistled. Relief washed over Aramis' face and he lifted his chin. Porthos noted, however, that he removed his hat and cloak and checked his pistol before heading into the trees.

Porthos let Aramis set the rhythm of the whistling conversation, not wanting him to rely on it. He was pleasantly surprised that he didn't use it very often and he had moved on each time. Porthos considered this was actually a useful tool to stop each other getting disoriented when on assignment. It would also work to locate each other when stealth was necessary. Porthos smiled to himself as he heard Aramis re-enter the clearing. He glanced over his shoulder where he was placing the last tent peg in to see Aramis clearing a place for the fire.

After years of working together, they had their tent set up, the fire going and were comfortably sat sharing wine in short order. Since they'd had two full meals in Pinon, they made themselves a generous meal of bread, cold meats and cheese. By the time darkness had fallen, they were relaxed and pleasantly full. Aramis was sat cleaning his pistol while Porthos was content to relax on his back watching him.

Aramis smiled and glanced down at Porthos' head by his knee and stretched his legs out in front of him. He patted his thigh and Porthos shuffled back to lay his head in Aramis' lap. Aramis smiled and resumed cleaning his guns.

Porthos dozed off quickly in Aramis' lap. Aramis took care not to wake him while completing his task. Once finished, he leaned forward slightly to pick up the bottle of wine and felt Porthos move. He froze and watched Porthos turn over in his sleep and nuzzle into Aramis' hip. He removed Porthos' bandanna gently and stroked his hair. Porthos grunted once and began his deep rumbling snore. Aramis glanced around the dark woods nervously and used his contact with Porthos' hair to keep him calm.

Aramis judged it to be the early hours of the morning when he started to think about waking Porthos. The fire had begun to die and he couldn't reach the pile of sticks without moving the heavy head.

“Porthos,” he whispered, not really intending to wake him.

“Mmm?” murmured Porthos, nuzzling into Aramis' thigh. “My turn?” he mumbled.

Aramis stroked his hair gently.

“I only whispered that, my love,” Aramis chuckled softly. Porthos turned onto his back and gazed sleepily up at Aramis' smiling face.

“I always hear you, Aramis,” Porthos said simply. The two men gazed at each other in the firelight. All they could see in each other was adoration.

Porthos rolled his head to the side to look at the low flames. He groaned and got to his feet. He moved round to the sticks and added a couple to the fire, the flames rising back up. He picked up the empty wine bottle and placed it by their packs, collecting their cloaks while he was there. Aramis was walking back and forth, his legs stiff from trying not to dislodge Porthos. Porthos glanced at the tent.

“Only if you're joining me,” Aramis replied, guessing his thought.

“You'd be more comfortable,”

“You can keep watch inside the tent?” he asked sarcastically.

“No, but-”

“I need to be close to you, Porthos,” Aramis said quietly, cutting him off. Porthos studied his face and nodded, seeing how much it cost Aramis to admit he still wasn't healed.

He stepped quickly to where Aramis was stretching and draped his thick woollen cloak around him. Aramis smiled and continued going through his stretches. Porthos watched smiling while he put his own cloak on.

“You know the Captain would be having a fit if he knew how many days we'd skipped these. How many times we'd duelled without warming up,” Aramis said. He could already feel the difference, tiny tiny twinges as his muscles had stopped being tested every day.

Porthos laughed and nodded. He sat down by the fire and patted the ground. Aramis lay down beside him. Porthos piled his own cloak up on his thigh and Aramis nestled into it quietly, in a mirror of how Porthos had been laying.

“How long has it been?” asked Aramis quietly, his voice muffled by the makeshift pillow. Porthos grimaced.

“Two weeks ago this night,” Porthos said, his voice thick with suppressed emotion. Aramis nodded glumly.

“I thought it was less,” he said sadly.

“It took them a week to get you back to me,” said Porthos, by way of explanation, his throat tight.

“Ah,” murmured Aramis. Porthos could feel Aramis wasn't asleep yet. Porthos wanted to comfort him but was lost in his own thoughts. He remembered the agony of that day when he thought the sun had gone out.

He'd no sooner stepped out of his door in the barracks to know something was wrong. Men were running about. It was a Sunday and he was technically still on leave. He'd intended to go out with one of the new horses for the day but he stopped someone to ask what was going on.

“ _The troop in Savoy have been ambushed. They've been massacred!”_

Porthos clenched his fist on his knee, remembering how he'd struggled to remove his hand from the Musketeers jacket. He couldn't absorb the news.

He had been stabbed and shot in combat several times. He'd been whipped so much his back was a map of scars. He'd very nearly lost his eye. But that. That was agony.

He gazed down at the silent form of Aramis below him, the shadows of his hair flickering on his face in the firelight. Even with him safely in his arms, Porthos was winded by the sheer memory of thinking he'd lost him.

Porthos remembered how he'd burst into Tréville's office, desperate for him to deny it. He didn't. He confirmed it. He couldn't even confirm if anyone had survived. Porthos remembered the way the Captain had been unable to meet his eyes. It was like a sword slicing him from corner to corner. Just the memory of that feeling was making Porthos clench his jaw painfully.

He remembered with shame how he'd frozen. He should have gone with him. He should have followed him. By the time he'd made it down the stairs, Tréville had gone. Porthos remembered looking around the yard and seeing pity on everyone's face. He'd run from them. He'd gone back into Tréville's office. He clutched his stomach above Aramis' head, remembering how he'd collapsed onto Tréville's desk and done the same then, feeling for the world like he was bleeding to death.

He'd seen the note. The urgent letter from Lyon. He stared into the fire, those hurriedly scribbled words burned into his mind.

_Musketeers all massacred in the night._

Porthos' eyes burned with the memory of that moment. All. That tiny word. All. Three letters blacked out all the light in the world.

He'd fallen to the ground and howled with agony. Serge had found him there, curled up on the floor, his arms tightly wrapped around his middle, desperately trying to stop the searing pain. Porthos had later learned his howling had been heard across the yard and out into the street. Serge was the only one who had dared come up to him.

It had been two days before any more information was received.

Porthos had been laying in Aramis' bed, not sleeping, desperately inhaling his scent since Serge had picked him up off the floor. There was heavy hammering on Aramis' door. Someone shouted his name through the door.

Porthos remembered opening the door ready to kill someone and found a long distance messenger splattered in mud in the hallway. He was trembling and held out a letter. Porthos remembered the boy running away as soon as Porthos took it.

_Aramis is the only survivor. Do not leave the city. Will be in Paris Friday. Do not leave the city. Tréville._

Porthos could hardly remember the joy he'd felt at that moment. He knew he must have felt happy but all he could recall was the grim determination that never again would he leave Aramis' side. He looked down at Aramis' sleeping face and swallowed as his tears began to fall.

Those days waiting for Tréville were a kind of hell. He had no idea if Aramis would come riding through the gate himself, unhurt, be borne by a stretcher or, his stomach had twisted each time he'd thought of it, had died on the journey. He didn't know if they'd come to the garrison, take him home or even to the Hotel-Dieu.

As darkness fell on the Thursday, Porthos had seated himself at the table below Tréville's office. Even if he didn't know where Aramis was going to be taken, Tréville would have to come here. Looking back, Porthos remembered people avoiding him. A few people had spoken to him at first and then avoided him. Even Serge stopped trying to bring him food.

By the time dawn had broken, Porthos had been pacing back and forth in the town square out the yard. He'd been approached by a terrified young boy who had been sent to tell Porthos that Aramis was being taken home. Porthos remembered running through the streets of Paris, bumping into several people.

He'd arrived just as they were laying Aramis on his bed. He pushed past every person in the room to see Aramis unconscious. Even now, he couldn't remember a word of what anyone said to him in that room. He knows Tréville spoke to him, a doctor had spoken to him. A fellow Musketeer had spoken to him.

All Porthos could remember was feeling like he could breathe for the first time in a week. His tears were falling fast and freely now, recalling that first moment he'd seen the centre of his world returned to him.

He'd pulled a chair from the fire to Aramis' bedside and taken up his position there. He'd stared at Aramis' face for several hours before Tréville had returned and explained all they knew. Aramis had stumbled into a village, bleeding from the head and had managed to make them understand. They'd sent a rider to Lyon immediately who had sent an urgent message the length of France to Tréville. A surgeon had gone down from Lyon to attend to Aramis' head and Tréville had gone to the camp. He'd collected Aramis' belongings from his tent.

Porthos remembered the stony expression on Tréville's face when he'd talked about going into the camp. He couldn't imagine the pain it must have caused Tréville to see his men like that. Tréville had sent them on a routine training exercise and could never have imagined that would happen. Tréville had explained there were people guarding the door and gave him a syrup to help Aramis sleep.

Porthos looked down at Aramis sleeping peacefully on his lap and continued to cry silently.

He couldn't help recalling how guilty he'd felt having to tell Aramis it wasn't a dream and then his helplessness as he watched Aramis revisit it, over and over. He'd screamed himself hoarse twice. It took hours to calm him enough to sleep, only for the movement of someone in the hall or a horse in the street to wake him up. Porthos pressed his gloved hands against his eyes, trying to stop the flow of tears.

When he lowered his hands, he saw Aramis was awake and watching him silently.

 


	20. Ways to heal?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aramis gets Porthos to open up.

Porthos stroked Aramis' hair. He swiped his thumb across Aramis' lips before he could say anything.

“I was told you were dead. It hurt,” he said gruffly, by way of explanation.

“I'm sorry,” Aramis whispered.

“Wasn't your fault,” Porthos answered.

“That's not what I'm sorry for. I'm saddened that you're in pain on my account. I apologise, however, for not noticing your pain.”

Porthos shrugged and stared into the fire.

“Please don't do it, Porthos. Don't freeze me out. Not me,” Aramis said quietly.

With great difficulty, Porthos turned his gaze back to Aramis. Aramis smiled sadly at him.

“I know it's hard but I need you to keep opening up to me. I don't know what I can do to help here without your assistance. Can you try and talk to me? What kept you from telling me how much you were hurting?”

Porthos swallowed hard and nodded.

“I didn't want to add to what you were going through. I wanted so much to tell you it didn't happen but I had to. I couldn't bear to add to it by telling you it had hurt me, too,” he replied. “All the news we had was 'No survivors'. At Île de Ré at least I knew you were just hurt. This time I was basically told you were dead,” Porthos' voice cracked and he swallowed again. “I fell apart, Aramis. I was ashamed of how useless I was. I should have followed the Captain and been with you when he found you. I just... I swore I wouldn't do it again. I would be there for you this time.”

Porthos pulled his glove off and resumed stroking Aramis' hair. Aramis pressed into Porthos' hand, frowning thoughtfully.

“You are the strongest person I know and I love that in you but I can't help thinking it does you more harm. Have you always swallowed how you feel, my love?”

“Sensitive romantic souls don't last long in the Court,” Porthos said flatly.

“You were only five?”

Porthos flinched.

“Yes. I never... Someone to lean on wasn't an option. I never learned...” Porthos frowned, struggling for words. “I don't know how...”

“To cry?” Aramis asked, a light switching on in his eyes. Porthos nodded miserably. They lapsed into silence again, the fire crackling quietly.

“Can I ask you a personal question, my love?” asked Aramis after a few minutes. Porthos laughed loudly, relaxing.

“Because so far we've kept a respectable distance?” Porthos asked, fingering the still visible bruise on Aramis' neck. Aramis chuckled. “Of course you can, love.”

“Do you think that's part of why you want the pain?”

Porthos' hand stopped halfway through stroking Aramis' hair.

“I can't fathom pain being a good thing apart from a in a sexual sense,” Aramis explained, flashing him a sexy grin. Porthos relaxed and resumed gently stroking Aramis' hair. “But you said it wasn't purely sexual and that you sought it out in the Court. Does it help you deal with pain you can't otherwise process? Manifesting it into something you understand?”

Aramis fell silent and watched Porthos patiently. Porthos was staring into the flames thoughtfully. Aramis smiled inwardly at how, even though it must be difficult, Porthos was still thinking it through for him.

“Not... entirely,” Porthos finally answered, speaking slowly. “Some of it is purely enjoyable and simply feels good,” he paused. Aramis nodded encouragingly. “With you it became about enduring it **for** you. To make you happy.”

Porthos paused again, swallowing nervously. He glanced down at Aramis and found his breath caught. There wasn't another person in the world who'd give him this time to find his answers.

“But yes,” he continued hesitantly. “I think that is how it started. I never learned to recognise bad feelings. Even when I did I had no way to deal with them. It was like... I found it was a way to channel confusing and painful feelings into something I knew how to express. I didn't really know how to **feel** that kind of pain but I **could** feel physical pain and I was able to watch it heal.”

Aramis reached up his hands and took Porthos'. He brought it to his mouth and kissed it tenderly.

“Thank you for talking to me, my love,” he said, smiling up at Porthos. Porthos let out a breath he didn't realise he'd been holding.

“You don't...” Porthos began and trailed off, swallowing again.

“Think any less of you?” Aramis guessed correctly. “No, my love. I know you a little better now, my beautiful Porthos, and I love you a little more for it.”

Aramis watched with pleasure as Porthos' face eased into a genuine smile.

“Get some sleep, love,” Porthos said quietly, stroking his thumb across Aramis' hands, still clasping his own.

“Good idea,” replied Aramis. He turned onto his side and nestled into Porthos' hip. Porthos watched with a smile as Aramis seemingly burrowed into the cloak Porthos had arranged as a makeshift pillow.

After a few minutes Porthos heard Aramis mumble something into the cloak.

“Pardon, love?” he whispered. Aramis lifted his mouth out of the cloak and repeated himself.

“I said we'll have to look into that later.”

 

Porthos felt Aramis begin to stir just as the pre-dawn light was beginning to filter through the trees. He had been practising cards and lifted his arm to watch Aramis. He tilted his head slightly to try and see Aramis' face. He wasn't entirely surprised to see Aramis' brow creased. He reached down to lay his hand gently on Aramis' stomach. Aramis clutched at Porthos' hand and whimpered in his sleep.

“Shh, shh,” Porthos murmured, leaning down slightly. He felt Aramis squeeze his hand and slowly begin to relax.

Porthos watched Aramis' face slowly smooth out again as whatever dream was bothering him passed. He was filled with doubts. He had spent the last 20 years working out who he was and being the best at it. He had always been the strong immovable one. Always. Even as a kid in the Court he didn't take anything from anyone. Nobody pushed Porthos around. Except Aramis.

Aramis shifted on his lap and he looked down. He stifled a chuckle as Aramis ended up completely face down and the cloak fell over his head. Porthos found he didn't care any more. Aramis was the centre of his world. He would do anything for him. He'd tried to be nothing but the strong stoic person Aramis could lean on but he'd been wrong. That's not what Aramis wanted and certainly not what he needed. He would always support Aramis, he would always be there for him but he needed to stop hiding bits of himself from Aramis. Aramis wasn't a frightened little bird, he was a King's Musketeer. Porthos smiled to himself and returned to practising cards.

By the time Aramis stirred again, dawn had broken properly and there were birds singing all around. Aramis arched his back and frowned. His face was incredibly hot. He felt a rush of cool air as something was lifted off his head and he opened his eyes, blinking.

Porthos felt that familiar rush of love as he watched Aramis' face change from confusion to a sleepy smile. He couldn't help being amazed when he saw that look of love in Aramis' eyes. He found it almost overwhelming to know that in all the world, he'd found the person he was made for. As much as Aramis looked at him like that, Porthos knew his eyes said the same.

“I love you too,” said Aramis sleepily.

“How do you always read my mind?” Porthos asked, brushing the hair out of Aramis' eyes.

“We're two halves of the whole,” Aramis answered simply, turning onto his back to look up at Porthos properly. The two musketeers watched in each other in a comfortable silence for a long time.

Aramis was aware people always knew him as the chatty loud one that never stopped talking. With Porthos, though, he often found himself naturally quiet. He never felt the urge to fill silences, never to explain himself, never to justify himself.

He yawned and stretched again, his head dipping over Porthos' thigh. He blinked as something fell beside his face. He turned his head to see cards laid out across Porthos' knees.

“Are you practising cheating?” he asked. Porthos laughed loudly. Aramis smiled at how he always seemed to laugh with his whole body. Aramis raised an eyebrow and looked up at Porthos. Porthos raised his arm in answer and Aramis laughed to see the King peeking out from his cuff. Aramis groaned and sat up reluctantly.

“So, love,” Porthos said, watching Aramis stretching his arms above his head. “Day off?”

“I don't think so,” he answered. “For the horses, yes, but really, you know there's no rest for the wicked.”

Porthos grinned and got to his feet, holding his hand out for Aramis and pulling him up.

“So what've you got planned for us then?” Porthos asked, shaking his legs out. Aramis answered with a sly smile. Porthos froze for a moment, remembering what Aramis had said just before falling asleep. Aramis just laughed.

“Not that?” Porthos asked with a smile, in response to Aramis' laughter.

“Exercise now. We've been very idle,” he said, purposefully dodging Porthos' question.

“I hate you,” said Porthos, sighing.

“Liar,” Aramis retorted, chuckling. The pair quickly began their stretching routine, Porthos admiring how lithe Aramis' movements were.

When Porthos grumbled doing the deep leg lunges, Aramis simply told him to do them again. Porthos flicked his gaze to the side and found himself caught off-guard by the imperious look on Aramis' face.

Aramis raised his eyebrows at Porthos and reached over to gently close Porthos' jaw, which had dropped open. Colour rushed to Porthos' cheeks and he quickly repeated the stretch. Aramis nodded in approval and the pair resumed the routine.

“Again,” said Aramis bluntly, as Porthos began shaking his limbs out, having completed the pattern. He raised his eyebrow again as Porthos hesitated.

They repeated the routine, ingrained by Tréville but Porthos found Aramis staring at him constantly. Porthos found himself increasingly self-conscious but couldn't identify what it was in his gaze that was making him nervous.

“Again,” Aramis repeated before Porthos had a chance to straighten up after the last stretch, a prolonged toe touch. Porthos found his mouth suddenly dry and quickly they began again. Porthos found his muscles beginning to protest and watched a slight sheen of sweat form on Aramis' forehead, feeling the same on his own.

“Again,” Aramis repeated.

Porthos inhaled sharply and continued, his muscles hurting considerably now. As he leaned down for the final stretch, he grunted in surprise as he felt Aramis press up behind him. He tried to stand up and was stopped by Aramis folding himself over his bent body. Aramis laid his hands on Porthos' elbows and pushed them further down, bending Porthos a little more. Porthos groaned as his muscles screamed at him. Aramis immediately let go and smirked.

“You sound so cute,” he said, turning away and brushing his fingers over Porthos' upturned bottom. Porthos stood up uncertainly and watched Aramis saunter away.

Aramis stood by their packs shaking his limbs out, his heart in his mouth. This moment felt pretty big to him. He braced himself for a second and decided to go for it. He glanced over at Porthos and raised his eyebrow. Porthos began to walk over.

Aramis turned around to the packs and allowed himself an enormous smile at Porthos' willingness to follow. He quickly wiped his smile off his face and turned back to Porthos. He stepped close and kissed Porthos.

Porthos wrapped his arms around Aramis like a reflex. Aramis rippled his body against Porthos, his supple form moulding to Porthos like always. Porthos growled and held Aramis to him. He found his cock almost immediately jumping to attention, the teasing of the last couple of days rushing back to front of Porthos' mind.

Arched into Porthos as he was, Aramis noticed Porthos' shift and felt himself twitch in response. He was finding it utterly exhilarating having his personal gladiator so pliant. He also found himself utterly thrilled by having Porthos so easily turned on and was positively electrified by having that end release entirely under his control.

Aramis deftly extracted himself from Porthos' grasp and found him leaning forwards to follow him.

“Breakfast, please,” he said brightly and strutted off to feed the horses, crossing his fingers. He found himself almost giddy when he heard the tell-tale clink of Porthos rummaging in the food bags to get pots out.

 


	21. Beginning to stretch the muscles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Musketeers begin a day of training.

By the time Aramis returned from the horses, Porthos had some water from the lake boiling and was pouring Aramis a cup of wine. Aramis kissed him lightly.

“You're such a good wife,” he teased. Porthos playfully glared at him.

“I was going to go and lay some traps for rabbits for later. We've got probably three or four meals of bread and cheese left but we finished the cold meat last night,” Porthos told him.

“I was thinking we'd go for a swim in the lake so we could always try and catch some fish as well,” he said, smiling.

The two Musketeers settled down to eat a breakfast of fruit, bread and cheese in comfortable silence. As they finished, Porthos wrapped his arm around Aramis' shoulders and they sat quietly together.

“So continuing on from our conversation last night,” said Porthos.

“Mmm?” murmured Aramis.

“What about your particular brand of pain seeking? It seems to me you're quite eager to dish it out but also rather enthusiastic about taking it, too. Is it emotional release for you as well since yours is emotional pain?”

“Oh no,” answered Aramis quickly. “Well,” he paused. “I suppose kind of. I think it's... stress relief. Perhaps not even that. I think it's just part of my palette, as it were. It seems remarkably specific, though. As much as I've fancied it before, it has only worked with you and it's only really that once. I think we'll have to see how it goes. I mean previously every time you bit me I had the urge to throw myself at your feet but now, I just have the urge to bite you back until you give in.”

Porthos laughed and took a long swig of wine.

“So you're sated, is that what you're telling me?” Porthos said and kissed the top of Aramis' head. Aramis chuckled and let his hand trail up the inside of Porthos' thigh.

“I wouldn't say that, no,” he said slyly. Porthos laughed again.

“You are incorrigible!” Porthos exclaimed, pushing Aramis away. Aramis chuckled and pulled himself to his feet, draining his cup and handing it to Porthos. Porthos rolled his eyes and drained his own, walking over and returning them to their packs. When Porthos turned back it was to find Aramis stood facing the lake with his back to Porthos. He had stripped off to just his under-clothes.

Porthos sighed happily, drinking the sight in. He wasn't sure he'd ever get over seeing Aramis' slender body uncovered. He stood watching avidly as Aramis stripped his underwear off and stretched again, his mouth watering seeing the high tight buttocks, memories of spreading them across his thighs flashing through his mind.

“Are you coming?” called Aramis over his shoulder.

“Not currently, no,” retorted Porthos without thinking.

Aramis looked over his shoulder and raised his eyebrow.

“Quips like that and you won't at all,” answered Aramis smirking. Porthos chuckled and stripped off, piling his clothes neatly by the tent flap. By the time he'd reached where Aramis had been stood, Aramis had entered the lake. Porthos watched him ducking under the water and sighed, watching the graceful way he surfaced again. He followed Aramis into the lake and swam directly to him.

Aramis turned and launched himself on Porthos. He wrapped his legs around Porthos' waist and devoured his mouth. Porthos grunted in surprise and reflexively wrapped his arms around Aramis, cupping his buttocks and holding him up. Aramis kissed Porthos hungrily, wrapping his wet arms around Porthos' neck and moaning against him.

Aramis forced his tongue into Porthos' mouth, not giving Porthos a chance to react. As soon as Porthos began to respond, Aramis began to nibble on Porthos' bottom lip. Hearing him growl, Aramis resumed kissing him for all he was worth. He felt Porthos dig his fingers into his buttocks under the water and he ground himself into Porthos' body.

Porthos was overwhelmed by Aramis' sudden onslaught. He was consumed by him. He could smell his skin, taste his lips, hear his moans. His hands were full of his deliciously tight ass and all he could see was Aramis' wet hair. Aramis had drawn him far enough into the lake that even Porthos' long legs couldn't touch the bottom. He was struggling to tread water enough to keep afloat with the wet writhing form of Aramis in his arms.

Aramis dipped his head and inhaled deeply against Porthos' neck. He lowered himself enough to feel Porthos' thick cock standing at full hardness. He quickly let go of Porthos and pushed himself away. He delighted in the guttural groan that came from deep within Porthos' chest as he let him go.

There was an island in the lake about 60 feet from the bank they were staying on. Aramis began to lead them on lengths at a rapid pace, between the two. Porthos followed Aramis, glaring at him in frustration. After 10 lengths, Aramis walked up onto the bank, breathing slightly heavier. He retrieved some of the water Porthos had boiled earlier, which had now cooled. He brought it back to the water's edge where Porthos was stood.

Aramis raked his eyes up and down Porthos' dripping wet body. He followed the trail of water drop down those extremely arousing hip bones and licked his lips. He murmured his approval and handed the water to Porthos.

Porthos was usually much fitter than Aramis. Aramis had the flexibility and agility but Porthos had the power and stamina. Today, though, he really didn't think he had enough strength to endure a workout like this and also fend off Aramis' constant teasing. He took a mouthful of the water and found himself feeling suddenly vulnerable, watching Aramis stare at him.

As Porthos handed the cup of water back, Aramis was pleased to note a slight shake in his hand. He stared brazenly at Porthos' cock, still semi-hard after their swim. Aramis took his own mouthful of water and set it down on the bank. He closed the distance between them and stroked Porthos' cock gently. Porthos groaned instantly and Aramis felt his whole body tense. Aramis continued to stroke Porthos until he reached full hardness, kissing up the side of his neck.

Porthos was trying extremely hard not to respond, resigned to the fact that Aramis will let go. When Aramis continued to fist his cock slowly, he groaned and dropped his forehead against Aramis' shoulder, letting himself thrust into Aramis' hand. At this, Aramis did let go and Porthos groaned desperately.

“Fuck you're beautiful when you're this hot for me,” he whispered cruelly, stepping away with a last trail of his fingers across Porthos' sensitive cock. He wandered back into the lake and resumed swimming.

After another 20 or so very quick lengths, both Musketeers were breathing hard. Aramis stopped again, on the island this time. He pulled himself up onto the bank and stretched out on his back. Porthos crawled up beside him and flopped onto his back next to him. Porthos laughed out loud.

“We're bloody unfit,” he said breathlessly. Aramis laughed in agreement, his hand on his heart, feeling it hammering against his chest.

“Shall we say another thirty and we'll stop for some wine?” asked Aramis.

“Twenty!”

“Thirty,” said Aramis firmly.

“Then why ask me?” said Porthos, still laughing. He got to his feet and held his hand out for Aramis.

“Old habits die hard. I forgot I don't need to ask you any more,” Aramis said, taking Porthos' hand and letting himself be pulled to his feet.

“I hate you,” said Porthos again, not denying the assertion.

“Liar,” replied Aramis automatically and kissing him lightly.

“No, no,” Porthos protested, following Aramis back into the water. “I mean it this time.”

Aramis cocked an eyebrow and reached out to touch Porthos' softened cock. Porthos leaned into it instinctively, cursing himself for responding so quickly. Aramis smiled smugly, feeling Porthos rapidly grow hard in his hand.

“Liar,” repeated Aramis in a purr. Porthos just groaned in resignation as Aramis removed his hand and sank back into the cold lake water.

Aramis pushed them both to another 35 lengths between the island and their camp, keeping up the punishing speed. Both of them were breathing heavily, rising out the water on shaky legs. Porthos stumbled into the tent and brought two of the heavy blankets back with him. Aramis smiled and helped Porthos lay it out next to the low burning fire. Aramis had collected another bowl of water and placed it on to boil.

The two men slumped down onto their backs on the blanket and lay in silence to catch their breath. After a few minutes, Aramis rolled onto his stomach and threw one arm and leg over Porthos' body. Porthos' rested his own arm across Aramis' back. He heard the water boiling and leaned over to take the bowl off and lay it on the floor beside the fire. Aramis grumbled into his chest.

“Hold still,” he moaned. Porthos chuckled.

“Just moving the water, love,” he replied.

“Oh. OK,” he mumbled. “How late do you think it is?”

“Not yet noon,” estimated Porthos, checking the shadows of the trees. He glanced down at Aramis and saw his eyes were closed. “No napping,” he said.

“Yes. Yes napping,” groaned Aramis, forcing his eyes open and sitting up reluctantly.

Porthos propped himself up on his elbows and watched Aramis' wet hair fall into his eyes.

“You told me it was only a day off for the horses and that we were having a hard day training,” Porthos reminded him.

“Quite right, too,” Aramis said. He glanced around in determination. “Let's walk round to the priory. On the map it only looks to be about half a mile. That's not going to push us at all but it will stop us resting here.”

Aramis stood up and held his hand out to Porthos, puling him up. Aramis swept his eyes up and down Porthos' naked body in blatant appreciation. Porthos smiled and did the same to Aramis' nude form.

“This isn't getting us anywhere,” Aramis said, chuckling. Porthos laughed as well. Aramis looked around to see where he'd laid his clothes.

“You know if you were tidier, you wouldn't have to look,” Porthos said, watching him.

“You know if **you** were tidier, I wouldn't have to look,” Aramis said, smugly. Porthos rolled his eyes and pointed to the bank where Aramis had dropped his shorts.

 


	22. Healing the other

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aramis stretches his legs. Porthos follows.

Before they left the camp, Aramis doused the fire and checked the horses were still secure while Porthos roamed around in the forest laying traps. Aramis was just feeding their last two apples to the horses when he heard Porthos re-enter the clearing. He gave a low whistle and Porthos smiled, walking over.

“When I do that I use it to mean 'I'm over here' or just to get your attention. You seem to make the exact same noise sound like a summons,” Porthos said. He wrapped one arm around Aramis' waist and kissed his still damp hair.

Aramis turned his head and kissed Porthos slowly. He turned the rest of his body to follow, feeling Porthos' other arm encircle his waist. Porthos smoothed Aramis' sash down.

“I can't see that sash without remembering it wrapped around your wrists,” he said huskily. He kissed Aramis' bruise gently and moved up to kiss his ear. Aramis murmured in approval and let himself melt in Porthos' arms. He lifted his arms to encircle Porthos' neck.

There was a loud clang as Porthos' sword banged into Aramis' musket. Porthos chuckled.

“Is that your gun or are you just having a good time?” he murmured quietly into Aramis' ear. Aramis slid his hand down between their body, deftly located Porthos' cock and gripped his considerable bulge, feeling it begin to harden almost immediately.

“Same question, my love,” he whispered wickedly. Porthos growled and gripped Aramis' waist, pulling him hard against his own body. Aramis began to move his hand, feeling Porthos' familiar deep rumbling groan as the broader man's hips began to thrust against him. Aramis laughed evilly against Porthos' ear.

Porthos tried hard to still himself, learning from experience that Aramis was just letting him get his hopes up. He finally got himself under control, the constricting leather of his breeches stopping him reaching full hardness. Aramis was not put off and simply applied more pressure, his long nimble fingers able to make out Porthos' shaft and moving in unmistakeable strokes along him.

“Don't you want me, Porthos?” he whispered, feeling Porthos shiver. “I can feel you, my love. I know how much you want this. I can feel it.”

Porthos growled and clenched his fists in Aramis' coat.

“Look at you, my lovely boy. So strong, pretending you don't want me. Yes you do. I can feel you Porthos,” Aramis continued relentlessly.

Porthos growled again and bit down on Aramis' neck. Aramis used his free hand to pull Porthos' head back sharply by the thick curls. Porthos gasped in pain and his hips lurched forwards into Aramis' hand. Aramis clenched his hand painfully around Porthos' constricted cock and bit down hard on his exposed neck. He tasted the sharp tang of blood on his tongue and let go of Porthos with both hands.

Porthos bellowed in pain and crumpled to the floor. He panted heavily, the severe pain from Aramis' savage bite bringing him to his knees and making his eyes water. As the pain in his neck began to stab, the throb from his cock made itself known from where Aramis had clenched his fist around him.

Aramis crouched down in front of him and watched him. Porthos lifted his head and saw Aramis' face inches from his own. Aramis felt slightly light-headed, seeing moisture gathering in Porthos' eyes. He reached out with his finger and pressed against the angry red bite mark, his fingertip coming away with a tiny speck of blood. He held it out to Porthos who opened his mouth compliantly.

Porthos tasted his own blood on Aramis' finger and felt himself tremble. He stared into Aramis' eyes and found his stomach twist in fear at the savage pleasure in his expression. His cock gave a painful throb as it still tried to harden, despite the pain Aramis' fist had caused.

They stayed like that for seconds that seemed to stretch on for hours. Eventually Aramis stood up, leaving Porthos on the floor. He retrieved Porthos' bandanna and both of their hats. Walking back to Porthos, he held out the bandanna to him. Porthos stood slowly, groaning as the shooting pain in his neck seemed to meet the throbbing in his cock somewhere in the region of his stomach. He felt colour rise to his cheeks as he realised it had just aroused him even more.

Porthos took the bandanna silently and tugged it on. He took a deep breath and finally straightened up entirely. Aramis beamed at him as if nothing had happened.

The two Musketeers put their hats on and Aramis linked his arm through Porthos', setting off around the lake.

  


As they walked, Aramis whistled carelessly, responding to the birdsong all around them. Porthos remained tense at Aramis' side as they walked. Being such a short stroll, they arrived at the gates within 10 minutes. Aramis looked over the impressive building and glanced to his side to see Porthos still stood rigidly.

Aramis considered he might have pushed Porthos too far, since he wasn't relaxing this time. He was struggling to decide whether to soothe Porthos and calm him down that way or actually push him on. His mind flashed back to his own begging on Aramis' lap and how Porthos had pushed him through his own struggles. He took a deep breath and thought carefully.

They continued through into the monastery and Aramis used his own experience to work through the abbey, his heart giving a little pang seeing the smashed windows, the upturned benches, the broken doors. The protestants had not been kind here.

He paused, getting his bearings. He quickly found the Chapter House and smiled, seeing what he wanted immediately. It was a hexagonal room with a small hexagonal altar in its centre and the object he was looking for on the floor beside it. He kicked it out of view, swallowed nervously and closed his eyes for a moment before turning back to Porthos.

Porthos had followed him silently and was looking around the room curiously. Aramis walked towards him and without a word began to remove Porthos' weapons from him.

Porthos stood awkwardly, uncertain how to proceed. He knew Aramis had brought him to this room for a reason but didn't know enough about monastery life to understand why. He wasn't sure whether to help Aramis divest him of his equipment or to stay still. He still wanted to kiss Aramis desperately but wasn't sure if he was permitted. He found himself frustratingly turned on by being so uncertain and felt quite helpless. He kept lowering his head, trying to catch Aramis' eye to seek some sense of what he was intending.

Aramis felt Porthos seeking him out and struggled not to reassure him. He felt quite certain that Porthos would benefit more from his being distant than he would if he were comforting. Having removed all of Porthos' weapons, his sword belt included, Aramis lay them on the floor. He removed Porthos' hat and bandanna, dropping them on the floor. He was careful to avoid any eye contact and kept his face impassive.

He felt Porthos beginning to tremble again and stepped away. He turned his back on Porthos and took a deep breath.

“Do you know what this room is, my love?” Aramis asked speaking for the first time they left the camp. Aramis pulled his pistol off his belt and unclipped his arquebus. He began to remove the rest of his straps and clips while waiting for Porthos to answer.

“Chapter house?” asked Porthos uncertainly. Aramis removed his hat and finally turned back to look at Porthos. He hadn't moved at all.

“Indeed,” Aramis said. He let his eyes roam up and down Porthos' stiff awkward frame. “You seem nervous,” he said silkily, removing his sword belt. Porthos nodded rigidly.

“Every morning the monks would meet in here and discuss the day,” Aramis continued. He removed his wide leather belt and dropped it on the floor. “As part of that daily meeting, they would confess any sins.”

Porthos gulped and his stomach twisted again.

“Those who freely admitted their sins would usually be pardoned,” Aramis said quietly, unwinding his long blue sash. He flicked his gaze over to Porthos again and saw Porthos watching him silently. “They might be told to pray for forgiveness and guidance but that was usually all.”

Aramis piled his sash on the altar and shrugged his coat off. He carefully laid it out on the floor, a few paces away. Aramis adjusted his braces and walked back to where Porthos hadn't moved.

“For those who don't volunteer their sins and need to be reported,” Aramis continued, beginning to undo Porthos' doublet. “correction is required.”

Aramis circled around to stand behind Porthos and gently tugged his jacket off, tossing it unceremoniously to the floor behind them. He felt Porthos flinch at the surprisingly loud sound of the heavy leather hitting the floor in the empty room. He remained behind Porthos and tugged his shirt up over his head. Porthos obediently lifted his arms and dropped them awkwardly back to his sides.

“Often it's bread and water rations. Perhaps segregation. More strict supervision,” Aramis continued in his low hypnotic voice, walking back round Porthos' silent form to stand beside the altar.

He pointed at the floor in front of the altar. Porthos jumped and hurried forward to stand in the spot indicated.

“For those who continue to hide their sins or, in some cases,” he said meeting Porthos' eyes and pointing to the floor with a click of his fingers, “those who don't understand they have sinned, a different punishment is used.”

Porthos jumped at the snap of noise and nervously slid to his knees in front of the altar and his personal saviour, his love, his Aramis. His heart was hammering like a drum in his chest, finally understanding where Aramis was going. He tried extremely hard to control his breathing, which was rapidly spinning out of control.

Picking up the leather lashes from where he'd kicked them, drawing them through Porthos' line of vision, Aramis finally, after years of knowing him, heard Porthos whimper.

 


	23. Drawing the poison

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time to heal Porthos

Aramis stood behind Porthos, admiring his bare back. In this room, he couldn't make out the scars he knew were there. He took the time he needed to steady himself and was reassured that Porthos' breathing had evened out. This was uncharted territory for him and he'd need to take this step by step.

Porthos was listening intensely to Aramis' movements. He was feeling incredibly exposed and whether it was the location or something else, he felt truly spiritual in a way he'd never known.

Aramis crouched by Porthos' side and used his finger to turn Porthos' chin towards him. Aramis resisted the urge to kiss Porthos. He looked so vulnerable and sweet knelt there for him.

“I love you,” said Aramis sincerely, resting his forehead against Porthos'. He heard Porthos' breath catch in his throat.

“I love you,” Porthos whispered back.

Aramis stood back up and noticed Porthos trembling. He kicked himself for the tender moment. He'd wanted to reassure himself but all it had done was unsettle Porthos. He dithered for a moment, slightly uncertain how to ground Porthos again.

“Hands on your knees, boy,” Aramis said loudly. He was reassured to see Porthos comply and take a deep breath, steadying himself again.

He stepped directly behind Porthos' kneeling form and brought the lash down experimentally, gaining the measure of a stroke. The flogger spread itself across Porthos' broad back harmlessly. Aramis silently applauded himself for his judgement of distance. Years of sword fighting had helped him judge his reach perfectly. He tried two quick strokes, diagonally across Porthos' back, pleased to note they landed exactly where he wanted. He rolled his wrist, as if preparing his sword-hand for a duel.

He swung harder, lashing diagonally across Porthos again and noticed Porthos stiffen for a second. He licked his lips and relaxed, knowing he was doing the right thing.

Aramis began a steady rhythm, keeping it the same mild intensity. He watched Porthos' body relax, moving slightly with the strikes of the flogger, rocking forward with it and rocking back into position each time. He shifted his body and started striking the opposite direction, rolling his wrist the other way. He heard Porthos hum and so continued at the same speed.

Aramis increased the pressure slightly and heard a rumble he couldn't identify from Porthos. He didn't dare break the pattern to check on him just yet. He experimented rolling his wrist in alternate directions, striking across Porthos' bare skin.

He stopped for a moment and put his hand on his heart. He saw Porthos continuing to rock in the same speed. He gazed at Porthos' back and tilted his head to see a small red patch gathering on each shoulder and each hip. Aramis waited until Porthos had stopped moving and began again.

Striking from Porthos' left shoulder, across his back, Aramis began to up the ante, slowing the speed down but hitting him harder. After a couple of minutes of these harder, slower strikes Aramis switched to the other direction and kept the same speed going.

Porthos began to feel the stinging sensation of the first round recede and a dull thud replacing it. He found the constant, consistent strikes soothing him.

Aramis took another little break and stepped to the side to glance at Porthos' face. His eyes were closed and his whole face was utterly relaxed. Aramis cast around in his own memory for his time as a novice, trying to remember what made it feel like penance. He remained at Porthos' side and struck much harder across the width of his shoulders.

Porthos hissed, being taken off guard by the step up from soothing to definite pain. As he began to absorb it, Aramis struck again.

Aramis watched Porthos carefully, knowing this definite pain was going to move them both out of their comfort zones. He found his mouth dry and carefully made sure Porthos was not having time to relax between strikes. He heard Porthos gasp and he felt the hairs raise on his arms. He felt the first stirrings of his own desire for Porthos' suffering and let that begin to drive him.

Porthos felt a shift in the strike pattern as Aramis increased in intensity again. He hissed again, feeling his whole back covered in a painful warmth. As he knelt there, he felt the cloud of pain enveloping him and let himself sink into it.

Aramis watched Porthos' body lean increasingly forwards and took a breath. He saw Porthos leaning dangerously close to the altar. He stopped, wiping sweat off his forehead and watched Porthos breathing heavily.

Without warning he gripped the back of Porthos' neck and pulled him up and forwards onto the altar. Porthos stumbled, following the rough handling. He didn't feel the need to open his eyes and just followed the familiar fingers. Aramis pulled one of his wrists up and over his head to dangle over the side of the altar. Porthos moved his other hand to follow it and felt Aramis pat him on the back of the neck.

Aramis rearranged his breeches, being taken by surprise at how hard he'd become. He didn't let Porthos have a chance to settle and he began beating Porthos' exposed back in earnest. He watched Porthos' hands and smiled to himself as they began to clench.

Aramis narrowed his eyes and began to lay heavier and heavier strikes across Porthos' back. Porthos began to growl and become restless on the stone. Aramis lay a particularly brutal blow across his back and listened to Porthos bellow.

Aramis clamped his hand down on the back of Porthos' neck and pinned him to the stone, holding him fast for a few seconds until Porthos was quiet again. He let go and crouched down next to Porthos' face, gripping his jaw painfully. Porthos' eyes fluttered open and met Aramis'.

Those twinkling kind eyes Porthos had fallen in love were full of cruelty and hunger. Porthos felt more helpless and naked than he ever had in his life.

“Shut the fuck up,” Aramis hissed dangerously. Porthos whimpered again and dropped his eyes. Aramis dropped Porthos' chin and walked out of his eye line.

He clutched his own heart again at the look of fear in his Porthos' eyes. He was struggling to come to terms with enjoying the look. He felt like he was supposed to feel guilty about it but just felt gleeful. He took another moment for himself, listening to Porthos panting and examined his own instincts. He was certain that he was on the right track and forced himself to relax.

Where Porthos' back had turned red, the thin scar lines were becoming evident. Aramis saw a few patches of deep darker red, which he was fairly certain were going to bruise. Aramis licked his lips again and rolled his wrist again.

Aramis resumed his heavy beating of Porthos' back. He kept a steady rhythm but began to put more and more strength behind each stroke. Porthos groaned and grunted with every strike. Aramis let it go. These weren't conscious noises. He watched the dark hands clenching and unclenching constantly.

Aramis switched arms as his right began to ache, using his less precise left arm. He could tell these strikes were landing heavier and the slightly new direction was catching Porthos off-guard. He heard the growls change to gasps and whimpers.

After several long minutes, alternating between his two arms, continuing at this punishing intensity he heard Porthos' breath hitching in his throat. Aramis gritted his teeth and ignored the pain in his own arms, dedicating himself to pushing Porthos.

Aramis watched and listened to Porthos as best he could with the loud thwacks of the leather across the rapidly darkening skin ringing through the empty room. He heard Porthos cry out loudly for the first time and bit his own lip, struggling to cling to his resolve.

Every strike began to elicit a strangled cry from Porthos' throat. It was a tortured sound. Aramis knew Porthos was overwhelmed. He watched Porthos' feet and hands flutter helplessly and stopped for a minute. Porthos was panting heavily, a small cry in each breath.

Aramis crouched down beside Porthos' face and saw tears forming at the corners of his tightly screwed shut eyes.

“Ten more and we're done, boy,” Aramis said softly. Porthos' dark eyes fluttered open and Aramis saw utter devotion and agony in his eyes. Aramis watched him for a few seconds as he realised Porthos had utterly surrendered to him.

Aramis stood up and took aim. He struck heavily. Porthos whimpered. He struck twice more and two more whimpers came. He swapped arms and struck another three, Porthos crying out after each one.

He struck twice more, harder still and Aramis heard that tortured strangled cry again. He swapped arms for the last time and laid the hardest blow yet across Porthos' back. He heard Porthos' breath coming in short, sharp, breaths, whimpering constantly. Aramis crossed himself and struck for the last time, putting considerable strength behind it.

Porthos howled, the sound reverberating around the empty room. Aramis froze, clutching his own heart as Porthos' voice broke and he began to sob earnestly. Aramis dropped the flogger, the sound swallowed by Porthos' anguished weeping. Aramis dropped to his knees beside Porthos' head. He lay his hand firmly on the back of Porthos' neck and struggled to resist the urge to stroke him. It was too soon.

Porthos' whole body shook, years of emotion flooding through him. Wave after wave of relief and emotion washed over him. Tears splashed onto the floor, falling constantly.

Aramis waited, holding his breath. Just as he began to grow concerned, Porthos took a great shuddering breath. Aramis moved his hand up and stroked the back of Porthos' head. Porthos continued to cry, more quietly. Aramis shuffled closer and gently urged Porthos' head onto his shoulder. He felt Porthos recognise him as a source of comfort and nuzzle into Aramis' neck urgently. Aramis exhaled in relief and felt his own eyes well up.

They remained there for long minutes. Aramis listened to Porthos cry himself out and his head grow heavy on his shoulder. He gently lifted Porthos' head up and kissed him tenderly. Porthos kissed him back urgently, leaning forward. Aramis pulled away, cradling Porthos' face gently.

“Stay,” he said firmly. Porthos nodded, his eyes still closed.

Aramis left the Chapter House and leaned on the wall for a moment. He became furious with himself that he hadn't thought what to do afterwards. He considered his options quickly. He sprinted to the dormitories, grateful they were always so close to the chapter house. He angrily burst into dormitories, collecting together four blankets and sprinting back to the Chapter House. He paused in the doorway, catching his breath quickly so Porthos didn't see his distress.

As he approached Porthos' prone form, he felt a rush of guilt, satisfaction and pure arousal all at once seeing the dark purple patches on Porthos' back blooming under the corner to corner patch of red. He was immensely proud of himself that he hadn't broken the skin anywhere. He tilted his head to consider Porthos and noticed with a rush of affection that his breathing was steady, even and calm.

He laid all of the blankets out on the floor and returned to his crouched position by Porthos' head. Aramis smiled as Porthos leaned his head towards him. He reached up for his sash on the edge of the altar and tenderly dried Porthos' face.

“Can you stand?” Aramis asked gently. Porthos mumbled something Aramis couldn't hear and didn't move. Aramis decided to try a different tactic. “Stand up, my boy,” he said with a quiet hint of instruction, getting to his own feet.

Porthos hissed as the painful skin on his back rippled when he moved. He raised himself to his feet and swayed slightly where he stood. Aramis noticed with interest his eyes were still closed.

“Raise your arms above your head please,” Aramis said quietly. Porthos complied. Aramis nodded to himself in satisfaction that Porthos still had his full range of movement, though he was groaning in pain. Aramis guided him by the hand to the blankets he'd laid out.

“Kneel, my brave beautiful boy,” he said quietly. Porthos slid to his knees without comment. Aramis lay down beside him, watching Porthos' closed eyes following him by feel. “Come here,” he said.

Porthos followed the sound of Aramis' voice and stretched out on his stomach, finding Aramis alongside him. He nuzzled tentatively into Aramis and felt Aramis' arm go round him.

Aramis held his hand above Porthos' back and felt his cock twitch at the pure heat radiating off his skin. As he stroked Porthos' hair gently he felt Porthos sigh deeply and positively melt against his side.

 


	24. Closing the wounds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Musketeers examine what's happened

Aramis glanced around the room, feeling Porthos pressed against his side.

He found himself baffled how Porthos could be resting so soundly on the cold concrete. The thin monastery blankets were not the softest things he'd ever felt. Aramis supposed it must be exhaustion. He'd learned the hard way over recent days how tiring it was to cry. Hadn't he slept for an entire day when Porthos had been shopping for their trip?

Aramis hovered his hand above Porthos' back and felt the heat rising from it. He felt himself growing restless. Was Porthos really OK? Had he hurt him too much? Should it have been more sexual? He lifted his head slightly to see dark purple patches growing on his shoulders. He was definitely going to be wearing Aramis' marks for a while. Why did that thought make him so happy?

Aramis considered how much Porthos liked poking the bruised bite mark on Aramis' own neck and smiled to himself. It didn't feel the same, though. That was like an excellent reminder of a brilliant night with a lover. Like the nail marks he'd left on Porthos.

So what did this mean? He knew that in terms of Porthos' emotional well-being, he'd played it exactly right. He only had to look at the peaceful face resting on his chest to know it. But why?

Aramis was well aware how much he'd enjoyed it. He knew he had. It wasn't just sexual pleasure for him and it wasn't just doing something for Porthos. He had enjoyed seeing Porthos suffer for him. What was the phrase Porthos had used? Enduring it for him?

Aramis noticed in surprise that Porthos was still crying silently, his tears pooling on Aramis' shirt. Aramis found himself slightly confused since Porthos' mouth was raised in a tiny peaceful smile.

He felt a deep rumble against his ribs as Porthos groaned softly. Aramis waited and saw Porthos arch his back and groan again. Aramis felt himself relax as Porthos chuckled.

“No napping,” Aramis reminded Porthos gently.

“Tyrant,” Porthos grumbled hoarsely.

“Perhaps,” agreed Aramis quietly. Porthos lifted his head and studied Aramis' face.

“OK, love?” Porthos asked tentatively.

“Oh indeed,” he replied softly. He gently used his thumb to wipe some of the moisture off Porthos' cheek. “You?”

Porthos laughed, a uncharacteristically breathy note to his voice. He leaned forwards to kiss Aramis, trying to put more emotion into the kiss than words could ever express.

Aramis' hand wound its way into Porthos' curls and tightened of its own accord. Porthos melted again as Aramis firmly took control of the kiss, tipping Porthos' head back. He felt Aramis' hunger and passion all the way to his toes. His back was still blazing in heat, patches of it throbbing painfully.

Aramis broke the kiss, searching Porthos' face. He found a light in Porthos' eyes he'd never seen before. It was utter reverence. Aramis felt the entire world click into place. He knew, without a shadow of a doubt, he had done the right thing. More importantly, he knew for the first time, truly knew, Porthos bore him no ill will for enjoying it.

Porthos watched with interest, seeing Aramis' bright eyes flickering constantly. He wondered what Aramis was seeing in his own face but for the first time in his life felt no urge to morph his own features to match what he thought should be there.

“What do you see?” he asked curiously.

“Love. Faith. Devotion. Surrender,” Aramis answered slowly, stroking Porthos' face. “Peace.”

Porthos smiled and laid his head back down on Aramis chest, avoiding the damp patch his tears had left on Aramis' shirt. Aramis moved his hand down and lay it gently between Porthos' shoulder blades. He smiled, hearing Porthos suck in a breath.

“Can you answer some questions for me?” asked Aramis gently.

“I can try to- ah! Yes! Yes I can!” Porthos answered, laughing as Aramis pressed his fingers gently on his heated skin on the word 'try'.

“Can you tell me why you cried?” Aramis asked, laying his hand on the back of Porthos' neck.

“I let go,” Porthos answered easily. “I was clinging to being strong to take everything. I was desperately trying to stay there for you and I realised that I didn't need to be strong and pretend it didn't bother me. I didn't need to suppress myself to be there for you because **you** were there for **me**. Truly with me. Safe, sound, healthy and alive.”

Aramis smiled, listening to Porthos open up so easily.

“Why did it upset you when I told you I loved you?”

Porthos thought carefully.

“It wasn't... It was jarring. I had been braced for pain and was trying to keep myself calm. It... I... It felt like I was following you down a silent corridor and and you turned around and said 'Boo!'. I normally love that you're unpredictable and it makes me laugh but... this corridor was dangerous and I was concentrating.”

Aramis nodded thoughtfully.

“It distracted you from what was about to come?”

“Yes,”

“Did it confuse you about why I was going to hurt you?”

Porthos frowned.

“I didn't really think about why,” he answered.

Aramis withdrew his hand from Porthos' back and propped himself up on his elbows.

“You didn't have a reason in your head about why I was doing it?” he asked incredulously.

Porthos shook his head in confusion.

“You wanted to. I accepted it. S'what I do,” Porthos said, frowning.

Aramis laughed, the sound ringing through the empty room. He dragged himself to a sitting position, resting against the stone altar and patted his lap.

Porthos obediently shuffled the extra few inches and laid his head in Aramis' lap. Aramis nudged him until he'd rolled onto his side where Aramis could still see his face.

“In my head I lose myself in the idea that I deserve the treatment, that it's right for me to be...”

“Subjugated?” Porthos supplied.

“Yes,” Aramis answered with a smile. “You don't?”

“No,” replied Porthos. “My only reason is you.”

Aramis beamed down at him.

“Any other questions?” Porthos asked.

“Hmm. Was it... You didn't find it arousing?”

“Not once it had started, no. It was... There was a purity there that obliterated any selfish desires. I was, and am, here to serve you, not myself,” Porthos answered sincerely. Aramis watched as colour rose into Porthos' cheeks and he swallowed nervously.

“Ask me,” he said softly.

“You know what I want to ask?”

“Of course I do. Ask it out loud, though,” Aramis said, his voice dropping to a low murmur.

“Did you enjoy hurting me?” Porthos asked quietly, not meeting Aramis' eyes.

“I did. That's not quite what you wanted to ask, though, is it, my beautiful boy?” said Aramis silkily.

“Did you find it..” Porthos trailed off.

“Say it,” said Aramis.

“Did my suffering arouse you?” Porthos asked in a whisper.

“Yes,” Aramis answered bluntly.

There was a tense moment of silence. Aramis watched Porthos' face grow steadily warmer and finally took pity on him.

“I like to hurt you, Porthos. It makes me hard. It doesn't mean I will always expect or even want sexual gratification. I love you and will do what is best for you because what's best for you **is** what I want.”

Porthos raised his eyes to meet Aramis' and smiled playfully.

“You see where my head is right? You really aren't a slight enough man to hide such desires,” he said, grinning up at Aramis, flicking his gaze to Aramis' groin.

Aramis raised his eyebrows at Porthos.

“Careful, now,” he said curiously, only a hint of warning in his voice.

“It's nice to know I have such an effect on you, love,” Porthos said smugly.

Aramis gripped Porthos' hair and pressed his face hard into his groin. He arched his hips slightly, pressing his bulging breeches into Porthos' face.

“You do indeed, my boy,” Aramis said. He reached down and unlaced Porthos' breeches deftly. Pulling his head back, Aramis was pleased to notice the smug look wiped clean off Porthos' face. He slid his hand into Porthos breeches and cupped him through his underwear. He watched Porthos' eyes widen.

“Oh, my lovely boy, have you suddenly remembered what happened last time I had my hand on your cock?”

Porthos attempted to nod, his movement hampered by Aramis' fist holding his hair tightly. Aramis used his hold on Porthos to rub his head into his own crotch again. He felt Porthos harden quickly under his hand.

“So... Why so hard, boy?” he asked, pulling Porthos' head back.

“Like you liking hurting me,” Porthos panted, suddenly overwhelmed by arousal.

“Ohh,” said Aramis sarcastically. He began to slowly stroke Porthos' thick cock through the thin layer of fabric. “So you don't like this?”

Porthos growled and pushed himself into Aramis' hand. Aramis pressed Porthos' head into his groin again, using Porthos' face as something to rub his semi-hardness against.

“But you do like this?” he asked, simultaneously squeezing Porthos' length painfully and grinding Porthos' face into his own twitching cock. Porthos' grunt of pain was swallowed by the leather stretched across Aramis.

Aramis unlaced Porthos' under-clothes and gently wrapped his long dexterous fingers around Porthos shaft, admiring the thick cock already standing to attention. He slowly stroked Porthos, smirking as the fog of arousal quickly enveloped Porthos and he began to groan with each movement.

Aramis let go of Porthos and slid out from under his head.

Porthos lay uncertainly. Aramis hopped nimbly up onto the stone altar and beckoned Porthos closer.

Porthos rose to his knees and caught sight of Aramis sat, fully clothed above him and his breath caught in his throat. He knelt before him, his back still warm, his hard cock exposed and begging for attention. He lifted his eyes up to meet Aramis'.

“Get on with it, then,” Aramis snapped.

Porthos quickly reached with eager fingers up to Aramis' laces and undid them easily. He lovingly removed Aramis' semi-hard cock from his underwear and stroked it gently.

Aramis moaned indulgently and rested his hand on the back of Porthos' head. After only a few moments, Aramis reached full hardness and pulled sharply on Porthos' hair, thrusting himself deep into Porthos' mouth.

Porthos gagged slightly and felt Aramis tug harder. There was nothing romantic about this. Aramis looked down at Porthos, the sight of him shirtless, freshly beaten and on his knees was just too much for him to be gentle.

Aramis used Porthos' hair as a tether and thrust himself in and out of his mouth quickly. He forced himself down Porthos' throat and held him there for several seconds. He felt Porthos gag around him a few times before releasing him. He heard Porthos trying to catch his breath and found himself all the more turned on by it.

Porthos gasped at the sudden assault. He tried to move his head, taking cues from Aramis' hands but found Aramis was moving too quickly to follow. As Aramis finally slid his cock out of his throat, Porthos panted desperately. He had barely managed to take three breaths before Aramis urged him back onto his cock. He suddenly realised what Aramis wanted and he let himself relax in Aramis' hands.

“Oh good boy,” Aramis moaned, feeling Porthos submit in his hands. He felt a tightening in his belly and began to fuck Porthos' face in earnest. He forced himself into Porthos' throat over and over, listening to him gag, each noise spurring him on all the more.

Porthos hung on for dear life. He'd never felt so used in all his life and yet he felt such peace about it. He felt huge ropes of drool falling as Aramis took him harder and faster. He felt his eyes watering as over and over, he fought the urge to gag.

Aramis moaned one last time and pulled Porthos' face flush against his pelvis, emptying himself down his lover's throat. He held him there for a while as he came for what felt like minutes. Aramis felt Porthos struggling as he tried to find air and found each movement caused a delicious aftershock as his orgasm slowly faded.

Finally he released Porthos' hair and listened as Porthos sucked in great lungfuls of air. He leaned back on his elbows and smiled lazily at Porthos, watching him gasp for breath, his cock harder than ever.

“Come on, then,” Aramis said, stretching his arms above his head. “No napping. No day off.”

He laughed out loud at the horror on Porthos' face. He picked up his sash and gently wiped himself. He hummed as the cloth sent little waves of pleasure through his still sensitive body. Aramis tucked himself away and redid his under-clothes and breeches up.

Porthos hadn't moved. Aramis leaned forward and wiped Porthos' chin and beard where his saliva had gathered. Porthos leaned into his hand and looked up pleadingly at Aramis.

“Nuh-uh,” said Aramis, shaking his head. Porthos groaned loudly and rested his forehead on Aramis' knee.

 


	25. Strengthening bodies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The two men discuss their relationship

The two Musketeers walked back round the lake, feeling the warm afternoon sun on their faces. Aramis had greatly enjoyed watching Porthos get dressed. Porthos had needed an awful lot of concentration to manage to do his breeches back up. Aramis had made no effort to help and had simply sat watching him. Aramis had taken pity on Porthos when it came to putting his thick leather doublet back on and was currently carrying it for him.

Porthos' back had begun to fade and wasn't as hot any more. Aramis could, however, make out a few patches that were going to bruise. Fewer than he thought but still enough that he could see where he'd been.

They judged the time to be about three in the afternoon as they re-entered the camp. With at least five hours before nightfall, Porthos suggested they return to firearms. Aramis glanced around at the trees. Porthos raised his eyebrow.

“It'll echo,” Aramis said.

“It echoed then?” Porthos asked. Aramis nodded in reply not meeting Porthos' eyes. “Aramis?” he prodded.

“All the noise echoed,” Aramis said finally. He looked up at Porthos, who was checking his powder. Porthos nodded in understanding.

“I gotta be honest, love. You need to hear it,” he said bluntly. Aramis sighed.

“But last time we-,” he began.

“Last time it was still fresh,” interrupted Porthos. “Last time you still weren't sleeping. Last time you were still ridiculously tense. Last time you weren't your normal cocky self. You are now. I think you'll be fine.”

“You believe that?” Aramis asked.

“I do,” said Porthos firmly.

After about an hour they returned to their camp site. Aramis was beaming from ear to ear, his gun slung over his shoulder. Porthos was watching him with a smile. Aramis had run into difficulty when Porthos was firing, especially when Porthos was stood behind him, but he'd simply been jumpy and controlled himself.

On their way back to the camp, they'd collected two rabbits from the traps Porthos had laid and broke down the rest. While Aramis went to see to the horses, Porthos boiled some more water and prepared a meal. Aramis shed his coat before sitting down and they shared another bottle of wine with their meal. The two men let their minds wander after they'd finished eating.

Porthos sat with his arm around Aramis and talked quietly about his childhood in the Court. Aramis had never realised that when Porthos' mother had died, he had nobody else.

“I think I always thought of the Court as a community,” he said sadly. “I imagined you running around as a misfit with other naughty kids. Learning to steal, sharing meals, playing games together.”

“No,” said Porthos stiffly. “Nobody helps the weak there. It's too... People live too close to starvation and disease to share with others. If someone **had** taken me in, their child might have died. I don't blame anyone there for my life being so hard.”

He fell silent and the two men looked quietly into the fire.

“There is a kind of community there,” Porthos said suddenly. “They help each other and watch out for each other. It just... It's hard to feel any sense of dignity in it when all you're doing is help each other thieve, not live.”

Aramis nodded against his shoulder.

“I understand that. I was sceptical about the concept of brotherhood when I joined the cavalry. My parents had kept telling me that being a priest would give me that but all I found as a novice was frustration and boredom,” he said softly.

“But?” asked Porthos.

“But I found that fighting side by side for your life was a bond that didn't compare to following the same faith. I didn't think it would be any different to life with my brothers in the monastery. They both were brotherhoods based on a shared purpose and shared lifestyle but...” Aramis trailed off.

“Life,” said Porthos quietly.

“Indeed. Life and death make it more real,” he agreed.

Aramis fell quiet and nuzzled Porthos' shoulder.

“It did for us, too,” said Porthos, leaning his head on top of Aramis'.

“Hmm?” asked Aramis quietly.

“After Île de Ré I knew we were more than brothers when I realised how much it would wound me should you die,” Porthos explained.

“Same,” said Aramis. “In Île de Ré I knew I loved you but it took...” Aramis trailed off. Porthos pressed a kiss into Aramis' dark waves. “It took Savoy to realise I couldn't possibly live another day letting social norms dictate my actions.”

“I love you, Aramis,” Porthos said, kissing Aramis' hair again. “I love everything you are with everything I am.”

Aramis chuckled.

“Sounds familiar.”

“I will remember those words until the moment of my death,” Porthos said simply.

Aramis sat up and kissed Porthos tenderly. Porthos smiled affectionately at his lover, watching the firelight flicker across his pale face. Aramis cradled Porthos' face in his hands and kissed him again. Porthos wrapped his arms around Aramis and easily lifted him onto his lap.

Aramis smiled against Porthos' mouth and settled on his lap, wrapping his legs around his lover's waist. Porthos ran his hands up Aramis' back and settled them on his shoulder blades, tucking his fingers under his braces. Aramis settled his arms around Porthos, resting one hand on the back of his neck.

They kissed without urgency, simply enjoying each other. Some small barrier had fallen after their afternoon at the priory. Since they'd left Paris both had opened up in the most vulnerable of ways but some tiny last shred of division had crumbled that afternoon.

Each kiss felt like another acceptance of each other's most private doubts. Neither man doubted themselves or each other. Porthos was able to give himself to Aramis in every way without contempt or judgement. Aramis had been able to share his desire for shame without disgust and to have his need for dominion met with nothing but love and acquiescence. He was still overjoyed at how willing and compliant Porthos had been regarding his wish to hurt him.

Aramis stroked Porthos' neck, trailing his fingers over the healing cuts on the back of his neck and pressing gently on the still fresh teeth marks. Porthos smiled and freed one of his hands to brush at Aramis' fading bite mark.

Aramis dipped his head again and kissed Porthos sweetly. He ran his finger down the line of Porthos' scar and smiled as Porthos didn't flinch this time. He stroked Porthos' beard and kissed him again. Porthos hummed contentedly and stroked Aramis' back slowly. Aramis leaned forward and nuzzled Porthos' shoulder silently. Porthos pulled him closer and they sat wrapped around one another for a long time.

As the temperature dropped a little with the darkening sky, Aramis disentangled himself from Porthos' lap and went to see to the horses for the night. When he'd come back, Porthos had collected their cloaks and a blanket. He stood up when he saw Aramis approaching and held his cloak out. Aramis smiled at the gesture while Porthos lovingly wrapped it around him.

They returned to their spot by the fire, which Porthos had cultivated back up to a comfortingly bright flame. Aramis snuggled into his usual position beneath Porthos' arm.

As they sat together they shared stories of where they had been before joining the Musketeers. Aramis listened to Porthos' tales of how he had made a bit of a reputation in the infantry and smiled. Even with a sword in his hand, Porthos' raw strength was often the difference maker. He remembered the first few couple of months training together. Aramis had kept making the same mistakes Porthos' enemies always do. Making any kind of lunging attack into Porthos' personal space simply meant he could use his body weight and pure power to turn the tide. Aramis chuckled to himself and Porthos looked down at him in surprise.

“Love?” he asked.

“I'm still overwhelmed when I think of what a formidable warrior you are and then remember that you're utterly mine.”

Porthos smiled.

“I am,” he said simply.

“As I am yours,” said Aramis, snuggling against him.

“Not in the same way, though,” Porthos replied kissing his hair. “You are my best friend, my lover, my brother and, apparently, my husband,” he said chuckling. Aramis grinned. “You belong with me but I belong **to** you.”

Aramis was quiet for several minutes while Porthos sat, comfortably silent as he so often was.

“That explains something,” he said slowly.

“What's that, love?” asked Porthos.

“I react differently to the marks on your neck than I do to the marks on your back,” he said.

“Oh?” asked Porthos.

“The ones on your neck and the scratches on your belly feel simply enjoyable. Like a sign of a particularly excellent night together. The mark you've left feels the same,” he explained, thinking aloud.

“And my back?” asked Porthos curiously.

“That feels as though...” he paused again. “As though I began to claim you as mine.”

Porthos thought for a long time.

“I think I see them all as marks of your authority but I suppose I can understand why they're different for you.”

Aramis looked up from under Porthos arm curiously.

“They weren't sexual,” he said simply. He felt Aramis shift under his arm.

“You think they're not as meaningful when they're sexual?” he asked in confusion.

“Oh no, no, love,” said Porthos. “I didn't mean that at all. I meant that it is much easier for both of us to accept the pain when we're in a sexual mood. When the sensations are all mixed in together, it becomes a mix of emotion. For example I know that the pain of sex is easier to take when everything else is feeling so good.”

Aramis nodded. He snuggled into Porthos, listening to his rich warm voice.

“There is nowhere to hide when it's not sexual. The **only** reason I stayed there beyond it being pleasant was for you. To simply endure **for** **you** ,” Porthos explained. “It's like... Ah! I know! It's like the difference between enjoying a little bit of pain along with your pleasure and then stripping that all away. It was suffering, Aramis. I suffered for no other reason than you. That level of control is different to some playful scratching or biting, no matter how much your nails might hurt.”

Aramis chuckled and turned his head to kiss Porthos' chest.

“That makes sense to me, my love,” Aramis murmured. “It was that moment you tried to take control. It...” he trailed off laughing.

“Do I want to hear this?” asked Porthos playfully. Aramis laughed heartily.

“It made me want to clarify exactly which one of us...” Aramis coughed, slightly embarrassed.

“Go on,” encouraged Porthos, amused.

“It made me want to make it perfectly clear who needs to ask permission for things and who doesn't,” Aramis finished, laughing.

Porthos' great booming laugh echoed around the woods.

“So I need to ask to hurt you?” he asked.

“No, no... Just understand that it's a risk,” Aramis said winking.

Porthos laughed again. Aramis smiled at how he always felt Porthos laugh with his whole body.

“I... Hm,” Porthos began and stopped abruptly. Aramis waited without comment, happy to simply lean against the steady warmth of his very own hero.

“I don't know how good I'll ever be at asking permission,” Porthos said carefully.

“You'll learn,” said Aramis lightly. “Besides... I'm sure I can find ways to teach you,” he said chuckling and pressing his nails gently against Porthos' thigh.

“No love,” he said pensively. “That's not what I mean.”

"Oh?” Aramis sat up and listened to him. He watched Porthos' frown smooth out when he met his eyes.

“I... I loved watching you beg, my love. I really did. I loved **making** you beg. I don't know, however, if I ever could beg for something from you. I accept your word. I'm not even sure I'd even ask that often. Should you deny me something, I accept it.”

“Oh really?” Aramis asked suggestively. Porthos laughed again.

“With difficulty love, but yes.”

Aramis smiled softly and caught Porthos' eyes.

“I apologise most heartily, lover,” Aramis said sincerely. “I hadn't realised the depth of your obedience to me. While I must admit I find denying you release utterly intoxicating and I confess it was my intention to have you begging on your knees...” Aramis paused, laying his hand on Porthos' thigh.

Porthos had one of his eyebrows raised and was trying extremely hard not be affected by his proximity and earnestness.

“I see now the begging I envisage will not come to pass because my lovely, beautiful, dedicated, faithful, obedient lover is not so selfish as to try and sway the opinion or influence the decision of his commander,” Aramis continued, holding Porthos' gaze.

Porthos raised an eyebrow at Aramis' word but was too wise to let himself get sucked in.

“But?” he asked shrewdly, a smile playing on his lips.

“Oh no but. No but at all, my love,” Aramis said, moving his hands up Porthos' thigh and dropping his eyes.

“Buuuut?” asked Porthos, laughing.

“No but... Just... a change in direction,” Aramis replied slyly, moving his hands up even higher and brushing gently against Porthos' groin.

Porthos sighed and spread his legs obligingly, resigning himself to the terribly mischievous actions of his lover.

“Good boy,” Aramis purred, just above a whisper, before raising his voice back to his normal level. “So instead of driving you so mad you beg me to take pity on you... I'm just going to drive you mad,” he said, finally placing his hand lightly across Porthos' groin.

Porthos let out an involuntary sigh at the contact and then groaned at the look of triumph in Aramis' eyes.

 


	26. Righting the world

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aramis takes Porthos as his own

Aramis chuckled cruelly, feeling Porthos begin to respond within seconds. He smiled and looked at Porthos' pained expression. He sat on Porthos' lap again, feeling the strong arms of his lover encircle him automatically. He laughed, feeling Porthos sigh.

“That was a big sigh, my love,” said Aramis, dipping his head to kiss him. Porthos grumbled, Aramis being back on his lap was making it much harder to resist his advances.

“Resignation,” said Porthos playfully, stroking Aramis' back.

“Mmm,” murmured Aramis into his ear. He kissed a line down the side of Porthos' neck and back up again. “I like to think of it as surrender.”

Aramis suddenly pushed him flat on his back and stretched out on top of him. Porthos felt the air rush out of him and before he had to chance to take a breath, Aramis' mouth descended on him.

He groaned as Aramis pushed his knee between his legs and pressed it against the growingly taut leather of his breeches. He restlessly stroked his hands up and down Aramis' back, relaxing and letting Aramis kiss him hungrily.

Aramis suddenly stood up and grinned down at Porthos.

“You look so fucking sexy like that,” Aramis said, the evil twinkle in his eye visible in the firelight. He gazed down at Porthos, who hadn't moved. He was still slightly breathless, his legs parted, sprawled on his back. Porthos gazed up at him.

“Tent. Now. Naked,” Aramis muttered. Porthos scrambled to his feet and glanced at their dishes surrounding the fire. Aramis raised an eyebrow at him. “Don't make me repeat myself,” said Aramis bluntly. He felt his cock stir as Porthos almost ran to the tent, pulling his cloak off as he went.

Aramis took his time collecting together their dishes. He didn't actually tidy them away but left them in a pile beside their packs. He lit their lantern and doused the fire before stretching lazily. He strolled to the dark tent with the lantern and blanket and entered to see Porthos sitting nervously at the side of the tent. He was amused to see his cock was already semi-hard and licked his lips. He watched Porthos bite his lip, seeing Aramis' reaction to his naked form.

Aramis took his time and slowly stripped down to just his under-clothes. Porthos didn't take his eyes off him for a second. Aramis drank the attention in and slowly moved things around in the tent to leave their normal bed in the centre free and uncluttered.

Finally, just as Porthos was beginning to grow restless, Aramis sank to his knees in front of his lover. He took Porthos by the hand and drew to him to his knees. Porthos ducked his head to avoid Aramis' eyes. Aramis lifted his chin and searched his face.

“Lover?”

“I'm always caught off-guard by how vulnerable you make me feel just by wearing more clothes than me,” Porthos said, colour rising to his cheeks.

“Indeed?” murmured Aramis thoughtfully. “I'll bear that in mind.”

Aramis wrapped his arms around Porthos and felt Porthos do the same. Aramis pressed them together for a long time, feeling Porthos harden at his proximity.

“I'm not even touching you, you needy needy boy,” he whispered into Porthos' ear. He felt Porthos shiver. He separated them a few inches and searched Porthos' face until he captured his gaze.

“Do you trust me, my darling?” he asked seriously. Porthos nodded rapidly. He reached behind him and handed Porthos his dagger. “I want you to cut me a small, very flexible, switch.”

Porthos swallowed nervously and studied Aramis' face. Aramis raised his hands and cradled Porthos' face gently. He kissed him tenderly and dropped his hands again. “Porthos?” he asked.

Porthos had gone slightly rigid and fear was creeping into his eyes.

“Porthos,” said Aramis, more loudly. Porthos frowned and peered pleadingly at Aramis.

“Now,” said Aramis impatiently. Porthos sighed in relief and quickly exited the tent with the knife.

Aramis frowned in confusion and filed that reaction away for later perusal. He busied himself in the tent collecting together what he needed. He attached the lantern to its hook above their pillows and finally lay down.

He listened to Porthos moving around outside and felt a small ripple of pleasure at the thought of him naked in the woods searching for implements of his own destruction. Aramis leaned back on the pillows and sang softly to himself.

He was startled at how easily they'd slipped into this. His thoughts strayed back to those awful days in Paris after Savoy. Aramis had never thought he'd be able to cope. He thought he'd die from upset alone. Porthos had saved him.

Porthos felt his stomach twisting and rolling in nerves as he approached the tent again. He'd collected three switches of varying lengths and thickness, not sure what Aramis intended. He found himself far more afraid than he'd been at the priory. He knew from experience that switches hurt far more than Aramis had chosen to hurt him with the lash. He heard Aramis singing quietly and was reassured. This was his Aramis.

Aramis smiled, seeing the naked form of Porthos entering the tent. He watched Porthos sink to his knees and hold out the knife and switches to him as if making an offering. He picked up his sash and wound it once only around Porthos' eyes, mouth and throat, leaving his nose clear. He made sure the fabric was flush but not tight. Aramis debated for a second and pulled a second loop around his throat slightly tighter. He left the long trails of blue dangling down Porthos' back. He took the items from Porthos' outstretched hands and watched with a slight twitch of his cock as Porthos fluttered his fingers over the tightened sash on his throat.

“It's to remind you not to talk, lover,” Aramis said quietly. Porthos dropped his hands to his side and nodded. “This is going to hurt, my beautiful boy,” he added, stroking Porthos' hair.

Aramis felt Porthos' breathing speed up and wasn't surprised that he was leaning more dramatically to follow his every move. He was leaning into Aramis' hand with more urgency than he normally did.

Aramis stroked Porthos' cock gently, hearing him groan. He tightened the grip on his hair gently, just enough to be able to guide him forward until he was flat on his stomach. Aramis took care to tuck Porthos' cock under his belly.

“You can shift until you're comfortable, lover,”

Porthos shuffled his hips and shoulders slightly and lay still, his hands at his sides. Aramis tugged Porthos' wrists up and lay them on his back so his arms were folded comfortably across his waist. Aramis used the trailing blue sash to bind his forearms together and tied the sash off.

“Try lowering your arms,” said Aramis, considering him. Porthos tugged his arms down and Aramis watched with satisfaction as his head was pulled up off the pillow by the pressure on his throat. He adjusted his own rapidly hardening cock as Porthos let out a slight whimper. He reached over and used Porthos' wide belt to bind his ankles together. He felt Porthos beginning to tremble as he was immobilised. Aramis stretched out beside Porthos' bound form and stroked his fingers across the purple patches on his shoulder-blades.

“Porthos, my love,” Aramis said quietly. “I'm doing this for you. You don't need to be strong for me. You don't need to stay in place for me. You can give yourself up entirely and trust that I will keep you in place instead. Do you understand?”

Porthos turned his face towards Aramis and nodded frantically, his nerves beginning to get the better of him. Aramis moved his hand to stroke Porthos' face gently.

“I love you Porthos and I want to make you mine. I said this afternoon felt like I was starting to claim you and tonight I am continuing. You are the love of my life, Porthos, and I will make you my own,” Aramis said, stroking Porthos' face continuously. He felt his eyes well up as Porthos nuzzled him slightly harder and his breathing evened out.

Aramis stayed where he was, stretched out beside Porthos, until Porthos' body utterly relaxed. As he watched his lover's muscles finally relax, he drew himself up to his knees and picked up the three sticks Porthos had brought him. He ran his hand over Porthos' backside and felt him jump slightly.

“Shh, shh,” Aramis murmured, moving his hand in large sweeping circles over his buttocks. He waited until Porthos had relaxed again and picked up the thinnest of the three sticks.

Aramis began to rapidly flick the switch over Porthos' buttocks, listening to him hiss in pain immediately. He made sure to cover Porthos' delicious buttocks from top to bottom and left to right. He twitched his wrist quickly, striking Porthos over and over, covering the entire of Porthos' buttocks in only about five minutes. Porthos' body beneath him was still but a constantly deep growling was vibrating through him.

Aramis stopped for a moment. He rolled his wrist, easing the ache. A moment after he'd stopped, Porthos gasped and his whole body shuddered. Aramis stroked his hand across the warm reddened backside he'd admired for years. Aramis examined his handiwork and noticed only one or two marks that might last beyond the night.

He picked up the next switch, a shorter one but slightly thicker. He flexed it in his hands and smiled.

Aramis placed it flat on Porthos' buttocks, feeling him tense. He waited a few moments until Porthos settled back down. Aramis held one end of the stick down and used his fingers to pull the other end back. He let go and was rewarded with a sharp yelp from Porthos. Aramis licked his lips and repeated this motion again and again and again. Porthos was whimpering uncontrollably, fidgeting constantly. Aramis watched him pulling on the sash and choking himself by accident each time. Aramis continued to slap the stick down in the same spot over and over, watching with glee as the skin turned rapidly darker and darker and darker. Porthos' ankles were strained against his belt.

Aramis continued these punishing, consistent strikes, never moving the switch. Porthos was beginning to really struggle to process it. This repeated pain over and over was building and building and he didn't know if he was going to last much longer.

He felt tears gathering at the corners of his eyes and tried desperately to move his hips enough to force Aramis to move to somewhere different but Aramis kept his fingers pressed down on the end of the switch so it moved with every squirm of Porthos' backside.

Aramis was watching Porthos' growing desperation and finding himself more and more turned on. He finally lifted the switch off Porthos' skin and heard Porthos shuddering with suppressed sobs. Aramis looked at the dark purple mark, a clear thin line and found himself giddy. He pressed a long pale finger along it and heard Porthos cry out with the pain.

“Mine,” Aramis hissed. Porthos began to cry, nodding fervently against the pillows.

Aramis moved on to the third and final switch. This one was longer but slightly thicker. It didn't have the same flexibility as the other two so he couldn't bend it back as much but it was still whippy enough for his purpose.

He switched to his left hand and rolled his wrist again.

Porthos cried out in surprise and pain as Aramis brought the switch down mercilessly across the back of his cold exposed thighs.

Aramis flicked his wrist constantly and quickly brought the back of Porthos' thighs from his knees to his buttocks up to a pale red shade. He switched back to his more accurate right hand after his left began to ache and used the thicker switch to land severe, cruel strikes across Porthos' skin.

Porthos cried helplessly, relaxing all his body against the makeshift bed. The speed and the constant stinging was too much for him to process. He felt himself give in and trust in the bondage his commander had put in place to keep him safe. He let himself get overwhelmed and felt the whole world fall away, just accepting Aramis' pain. He began to unconsciously raise his buttocks to meet Aramis.

Aramis gripped his cock with his free hand, watching Porthos surrender to him. He licked his lips and slowed his strikes down, letting them land harder. He watched with glee as they began to leave clear welts, mostly on his thighs. The dark purple line from his concentrated strikes earlier was spurring him on.

After several more long minutes, Aramis finally stopped.

Porthos' skin was a deep shade of red from his hips down to his knees. There were about twenty clear lines of welts and that beautiful dark, dark purple line, still darkening across Porthos' right buttock.

Porthos felt like he was floating. He was in absolute agony and crying constantly but he felt nothing but acceptance and worship for Aramis. It took him a few seconds to realise Aramis had undone the belt from his ankles.

Aramis raised himself up on his knees beside Porthos' prone form and checked the space around him. He nodded to himself.

“Ten more, boy,” Aramis said and felt sheer cruel joy at the way Porthos quivered. “These will hurt,” he ominously.

Porthos nodded against the pillow and Aramis felt a surge of desire for his Porthos as nothing in his lover tensed up at the warning.

Aramis brought the belt down across Porthos' thighs and smiled as Porthos gasped in surprise at the change of sensation. Aramis struck again across Porthos' thighs, slightly harder. Porthos yelped and fidgeted slightly, his ankles unbound.

Aramis moved up and struck across Porthos' bruised backside. Porthos gasped in pain and tugged hard on the sash. Aramis struck again quickly and was rewarded with a loud growling noise. He struck again, harder, across the upturned buttocks and Porthos bellowed, the noise filtering through the sash wrapped thinly around his mouth.

“Five left,” said Aramis, forcing his voice to be heartless while inside his whole body felt on fire. Porthos whimpered and took a deep breath.

Aramis struck his ass again, harder still, and Porthos groaned loudly, his fists clenching. Aramis moved down to his thighs and struck again. Porthos howled and Aramis struck again across the back of his thighs, the noise being cut off halfway through.

Aramis returned to Porthos' bottom for the last two strikes. He brought the belt down viciously across the bruised skin and listened to Porthos' quiet grunt. Aramis paused again and watched his lover. Porthos was sobbing breathlessly, his whimpering constant. Aramis knew Porthos was clinging to his sanity waiting for the last strike.

Aramis finally brought the belt down savagely, delighting in the primal roar of agony that came rushing out of his champion. As the noise died in his throat, Porthos sobbed helplessly. Aramis quickly lay down and stretched out beside Porthos again. He ran his hand soothingly over the bruised skin of Porthos' rounded buttocks. He delighted in how hot the skin was.

“You are mine. Do you understand, boy?” Aramis murmured quietly into Porthos' ear. Porthos whimpered and moved his head in search of Aramis. Aramis stroked his face and smiled at the urgency with which his Porthos nuzzled into his hand. Aramis saw the wet patches on the sash where Porthos had been crying and felt a pang of guilt but it passed quickly.

As Porthos began to calm, Aramis stretched. He slowly undid the sash from Porthos' arms and massaged his arms and shoulders gently. Porthos sighed and gently laid his arms at his sides. Aramis wound the long loose ends of the sash round Porthos throat once more and returned to his knees at Porthos' side.

“Up onto your knees, boy,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire. Porthos gasped and raised himself to his hands and knees awkwardly, his arms still stiff. Aramis gently pressed on the back of Porthos' neck to urge his still covered face back down to the pillows. Porthos pillowed his head on his arms and shivered at the position. He again felt unbelievably vulnerable.

“Spread your legs,” said Aramis, running his hands over the hot skin of Porthos' buttocks, parting them slightly. Porthos groaned with desire and spread his knees.

Aramis reached between Porthos' legs and located his cock, which had softened but only slightly. Within seconds of Aramis' nimble fingers wrapping themselves around his length, he reached full hardness and groaned in frustration into the pillows as he felt Aramis immediately let go.

Porthos started slightly as he felt Aramis drip a small amount of oil onto his entrance and those long digits rubbing his cheeks painfully. He hissed in pain as Aramis ran his thumb firmly along the painful bruised line. He shivered in pleasure from head to toe as he felt Aramis insert his index finger slowly. He panted in surprise as Aramis slowly slid his finger all the way in, not giving Porthos time to adjust to the intrusion until his finger was seated all the way. Only then did he pause.

Porthos felt his eyes well up, taken by surprise at Aramis forcing his finger in so deeply. He sniffed into the pillow, overcome with how right it felt to be plundered so deeply.

Aramis slowly drew his finger back out and slid back in. He was determined Porthos would feel him entirely. Not just stretched wide for him but Aramis made sure each time Porthos would feel him deeply.

This was new territory for Aramis but he knew Porthos had experienced this before. He chose to take his cues from Porthos and continued with his slow, calm movements. He added more oil to his finger constantly and made sure on each slow movement, his finger went as deep as possible into Porthos.

Porthos groaned and began to rock back and forth with his maddeningly slow movements. Aramis felt Porthos begin to respond and on the next stroke, he added his middle finger.

Porthos groaned deeply, feeling Aramis force him apart and slide excruciatingly slowly into him. Aramis felt the vibration all the way through his hand and into his own chest and Porthos didn't stop the noise until Aramis had pushed his fingers all the way into him. Aramis paused again and heard Porthos panting.

Porthos was feeling utterly taken. Aramis was as immovable on letting Porthos' body set the depth as he was on everything else. He shifted restlessly on the pillows, arching his back to meet Aramis' fingers. The second finger had begun that recognisable ache as his muscles protested the invasion.

Aramis watched Porthos fidgeting. He smiled at how well Porthos was doing, how uncomfortable he must be. He resumed his long, slow thrusts with his two fingers, feeling Porthos groan in growing frustration at the slow pace. Porthos was pressing back against him each time and Aramis felt him clenching his muscles impatiently around the two long nimble digits.

Porthos jumped as he felt Aramis' other hand wrap around his throbbing cock. Aramis stroked him gently a few times, just enough to get Porthos panting again, and stopped. He firmly squeezed Porthos' cock as a reminder of how little control he had.

Porthos laughed helplessly into the pillows and suddenly groaned loudly. Aramis raised an eyebrow and pushed his fingers back in. Drawing them back out, he felt a small round nub inside Porthos and as his fingers passed over it, Porthos jerked in Aramis' hand and he gasped loudly. Aramis gently repeated the motion and felt Porthos shuddering. Aramis chuckled to himself and moved on.

He added more oil and forced a third finger in, again pushing his digits deep into Porthos slowly without pause. Porthos groaned at the stretching ache, pressing himself back against Aramis.

Aramis began to move his fingers in long deep strokes, but was still holding himself to the slow pace, which was clearly driving Porthos to distraction. Porthos groaned helplessly, his hands fluttering on the pillows. He didn't know what he wanted any more. He was desperately turned on, his cock steadily dripping precum onto the blankets. His whole backside was still on fire and there was a deep pain across the mark Aramis had made. There were still distinct stinging patches on his thighs. His hole... oh the deep delicious ache of his stretched hole.

Aramis was struggling to keep his slow pace. The sight of the deep dark purple line where he'd marked Porthos was driving him wild. The sight of Porthos offering himself up was almost too much to bear. He continued the long firm strokes of his three fingers, burying them deep inside Porthos each time. He shifted slowly, trying not to let Porthos notice. Porthos was too lost in sensation to tell a thing.

Aramis drew his fingers out for one more time and without pausing, pushed his cock at Porthos' entrance. Porthos gasped in surprise behind the covering of the sash and his head came up off the pillow. Aramis' hand descended on Porthos' neck, pinning him back to the bed. Porthos groaned loudly again and pushed himself against Aramis, the helpless position making his stomach twist.

Aramis liberally coated himself with oil and pressed himself slowly into Porthos. He was sweating with the effort of holding himself back. Porthos was whimpering desperately, not sure if he wanted to press back against Aramis or if the pain was too much. Slowly, insistently, unrelentingly, Aramis pushed further and further into Porthos, without stopping. Porthos was growing in desperation as he felt himself split open and deeply invaded by Aramis. 

Finally Aramis bottomed out inside Porthos and he leaned forward, covering Porthos' back. He gripped the trailing ends of the sash and pulled hard, yanking Porthos upright by his throat. Aramis pulled down hard on the sash, listening to Porthos' light choking. He hissed into Porthos' ear.

“You are mine, Porthos. I love you more than life itself but never ever forget, Porthos, you are mine. You have been broken, marked and now claimed by me. You are mine. Forever. Understand?” he asked, twitching his hips for emphasis, listening to Porthos gasp in pain each time.

Porthos nodded frantically against the sash holding his throat tight. Aramis noticed Porthos' hands were hanging passively at his sides and felt a rush of adrenaline. He loosened his grip on the sash and gently pushed on the back of Porthos' head. He obediently dropped his head back onto his arms on the pillow.

Aramis drew himself almost all the way out and pushed back in, forcing himself back into his lover. He watched with fascination as his long pale cock contrasted beautifully with the darkened skin around his tanned lover's entrance. He lay his hands on Porthos' buttocks and listened to Porthos' hiss of pain. He admired the colour of the deep marked line against the pale skin of his fingers.

Aramis couldn't keep up the slow pace any more and dug his fingers into Porthos' bruised backside and began to fuck Porthos properly. He kept his pace leisurely but it lost its teasing feeling. The two men moaned in unison. Aramis knew neither of them were going to last long.

“Ready, lover?” Aramis asked breathlessly after only a couple of minutes. He saw Porthos nodding and felt him clench his muscles around him in answer. Aramis moaned at the feeling and began to fuck Porthos in earnest. He drove his considerable length into Porthos over and over. After only a few moments he heard Porthos groan and his entire body melted under Aramis as he surrendered to him.

Aramis pounded frantically into Porthos and as he felt himself tightening, he yanked hard on the sash, pulling Porthos upright again. Porthos let out a strangled cry as was heaved up. Aramis continued to thrust painfully deep inside him and Porthos' muffled cry was heard again as Aramis' other hand wrapped around his cock.

After days of constant teasing and Aramis buried deep into his ass, Porthos was utterly powerless over his own orgasm and Aramis knew it.

“Cum for me, lover,” Aramis breathed into Porthos' ear and pulled hard on the sash, cutting off Porthos' air, even as his hand moved rapidly up and down Porthos' thick shaft. Porthos' hands fluttered pointlessly at his sides as his orgasm ripped through him. He roared into the sash covering his mouth and twitched uncontrollably in Aramis' arms.

Aramis wrapped his arms around Porthos' chest and leant them both forwards. He thrust hard against Porthos and finally emptied himself deep inside Porthos, burying himself to the hilt and moaning loudly.

Aramis lay draped over Porthos' still twitching body for several long seconds. As his orgasm began to fade and the ache in his knees made itself felt, Aramis reluctantly pulled slowly out of Porthos, both of them shuddering at the loss of contact.

Aramis picked up the cloths he'd secreted earlier and gently wiped Porthos and himself clean.

“Onto your back please, my boy,” Aramis said quietly. Porthos complied stiffly, his legs suddenly shaking as the adrenaline wore off. As he settled his backside onto the blankets he hissed in pain. He heard Aramis chuckling as he began wiping him clean and Porthos shivered as the rough cloth ran over his still sensitive cock. Aramis tapped the insides of his thighs and Porthos spread his aching legs, grumbling as the welts on the back of his thighs rubbed against the blanket.

He blinked in surprise as Aramis' fingers gently pulled the sash away from his eyes. Porthos' eyes took several long seconds to adjust after having his eyes held shut for so long. He finally focussed on Aramis' smiling face and knew his own face matched that loving smile.

“Keep your eyes on me and don't move. OK?” Aramis asked softly. Porthos nodded and frowned, the sash still in place on his mouth. Aramis lifted his dagger into Porthos' eye line. Porthos' eyes went round like saucers. Aramis leaned forward and kissed Porthos' sweaty forehead. “I love you,” he whispered.

Aramis felt Porthos' confusion and stroked his face. He looked down and placed his knife against Porthos' inner thigh. He looked back up to see Porthos' eyes wide and his nostrils flaring as he breathed hard above the sash covering his mouth.

He drew a quick sharp line and heard Porthos groan. Looking up he saw Porthos had closed his eyes.

“Eyes. Keep your eyes on me, love,”

Porthos opened his eyes and was surprised to see Aramis looking calm, collected and with a big soppy romantic grin on his face. Porthos locked eyes with him and felt Aramis place another cut beside the first. Porthos inhaled sharply but didn't break eye contact. Aramis glanced down briefly and positioned his knife again, making a third much shorter cut.

Porthos frowned and gazed up at Aramis, whose eyes were full of tears. Aramis gently tugged Porthos' stiff body to a sitting position and unwound the sash from his throat and mouth. Porthos barely had time to smile before Aramis kissed him with surprising tenderness. Aramis' eyes were brimming with tears and Porthos frowned at him in concern. Aramis looked down at the cuts he'd left. Porthos followed the line of his gaze to see three bleeding lines on the inside of his left thigh that formed a perfect 'A'.

Porthos felt his own eyes well up, being emotionally strung out after the last hour or so. He drew his arms around Aramis suddenly and pulled him close. He buried his face in Aramis' shoulder and whispered something against Aramis' neck. Aramis gently disentangled himself and lifted Porthos' chin to kiss him lovingly. Aramis gently lay Porthos down and used one of the cloths to wipe the few small trickles of blood that had spilled from his mark. Aramis pulled a blanket over Porthos and squeezed his hand.

Porthos lay quite still, slightly stunned as Aramis slowly moved around the tent, making sure their weapons were in their normal places and blowing out the candle. He snuggled down under the blanket and drew Porthos into his arms. Porthos moved willingly, turning onto his stomach and hissing as the blanket settled on his bruises and welts. Aramis stroked his hair gently and felt himself growing sleepy immediately.

Porthos' chest was pressed against Aramis' ribs so Aramis could feel his breathing growing slower as Porthos also was suddenly exhausted.

“What did you say when you hugged me, my love?” asked Aramis drowsily.

“Hmm?” murmured Porthos, struggling to stay awake.

“When we were sat up. You said something I didn't hear,” he explained in a whisper.

“I said 'thank you, sire',” answered Porthos without embarrassment and nuzzled back into Aramis' chest. Aramis felt his eyes well up and sighed softly.

The two men fell asleep in each other's arms almost immediately.

 


	27. A setback

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aramis struggles to come to terms with his desires and handles it badly.

The first thing Porthos became aware of was a slight stabbing pain in his right buttock. He laughed quietly, joyfully remembering why it was hurting so much. He opened his eyes to see the tent was still pitch black. Only a few hours must have passed. Porthos realised he hadn't moved an inch from where he'd fallen asleep, draped across Aramis' stomach. He felt Aramis was already awake and he began stroking his hair. Porthos rumbled contentedly and nuzzled into his chest.

Porthos lifted his head after a few seconds and frowned at Aramis.

“Yes, love?” asked Aramis.

“Something's wrong,” said Porthos, trying to see his face in the darkness. Aramis blew out a long breath. He could never hide things from Porthos.

“I'm so sorry,” Aramis said quietly, not lifting his head. Porthos felt a lump in his throat and dropped his head onto Aramis' chest.

His mind was whirling. He had pushed Aramis too far. He'd really thought for a second he had everything. It was stupid of him. Aramis had finally hit his limit. Porthos felt a surge of anger at himself as tears trickled from the corners of his eyes.

Aramis felt Porthos growing upset at his side and didn't blame him. He should have kept things light. He had no right to say those things to Porthos. He'd crossed a line and had blown it. He waited tensely for Porthos to decide what to do next. He estimated Porthos would want to leave immediately. Aramis would stay behind and tidy everything up and decide how to proceed once Porthos was safely away from him.

Aramis wasn't surprised to feel Porthos crying.

“Shall I go and prepare your horse for you?” asked Aramis stiffly.

Porthos' breath caught in his throat. He hadn't expected Aramis to completely break with him but it made sense. Before he could stop himself he nodded.

“As you wish,” Porthos said. Porthos stood quickly, throwing the blanket off him. He stepped out the tent before Aramis could draw breath. Aramis pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes and began to cry.

Porthos paced the camp-site, trying to stop himself crying. He took deep breaths, trying to push his emotions back down, as he'd done for years. It felt like trying to pull on an old stiff coat that doesn't fit any more. He didn't understand. He thought furiously through the last couple of days. He'd been right to open up to Aramis. He'd been certain. So what had changed? Aramis had told him only seconds before cutting him that he'd loved him. What happened? Nothing had changed, so what was going on?

Aramis dressed quickly and vacated the tent to give Porthos space to dress in peace. He saw Porthos pacing by the lake, clutching his stomach and felt a pang of guilt again. He wasn't surprised he'd made Porthos feel sick.

Porthos heard Aramis moving around and couldn't help watching his silhouette in the faint slivers of moonlight. He could make out Aramis picking up the tack for one of the horses to get rid of him and he felt another wave of pain rip through him. This was like finding out Aramis was dead all over again. It brought him to his knees, gasping. His Aramis. How would he live, knowing what he could have had. How would he face Aramis every day, knowing how much the love of his life was disgusted by him?

He felt Aramis approaching him and tried to pull himself together but he was just too raw.

“I'm so sorry, Porthos. I don't expect you to ever forgive me but know I'm desperately sorry,” he said quietly.

Porthos twisted his head, clutching his stomach to stare dumbly at Aramis. He had absolutely no idea what Aramis was talking about.

The agony in Porthos' eyes made Aramis hate himself. Every part of him ached to reach out and comfort him but he doubted anything about him would comfort Porthos at this moment. He extended his hand out of instinct and quickly withdrew it.

Porthos watched Aramis recoil from him, feeling another wave of pain through him. How could he have ever put Aramis in this position? He'd destroyed the best thing in his life. He just couldn't get back up. He just knelt on the floor in the dark and let the pain overwhelm him. What did he have in life to be strong for any more?

Aramis watched Porthos crumbling, clutching his middle. He didn't know what to do. Porthos was clearly getting worse. He'd thought as soon as he offered him a way out he'd be fine, taking the escape.

“What can I do, Porthos?” asked Aramis, trying to keep the misery out of his voice.

Porthos stared up at Aramis, not understanding what he was being asked. There was only one thing in the world Porthos needed and it was stood in front of him, trying to send him away. Porthos tried desperately to find his strength and regain his equilibrium. He'd spent years swallowing his pain, why could he not do it now? Aramis had broken him like a horse to its master and Porthos wasn't sure he could ever survive in the wild any more.

Aramis stood uncertainly, doubting himself. He'd expected Porthos to be disgusted and eager to get away from him but Porthos was just collapsing. Should he help Porthos get dressed so he doesn't feel so vulnerable? He watched as Porthos' body trembled and realised he must be cold. He hesitantly drew his coat off and draped it over Porthos' shoulders where he knelt. He was startled to feel Porthos lean towards him, expecting the opposite.

Porthos tried desperately to keep himself away from Aramis to spare the man any more discomfort but couldn't help it. Every part of his body was yearning for him. He inhaled deeply, trying to savour the scent of his lover.

Aramis experimentally laid his hand on the back of Porthos' neck, feeling another pang of guilt as his eyes managed to find the bite mark, still visible in the small light the moon bouncing off the lake gave them. His heart lurched into his mouth as Porthos whimpered and leaned closer.

“Porthos?” Aramis whispered experimentally. Porthos broke again. He sobbed loudly and pressed himself against Aramis' legs.

Aramis felt Porthos press his head firmly against his thigh, crying even harder. Aramis dropped to his knees and felt a wave of pain as Porthos buried his face into his shoulder and sobbed uncontrollably. He tried to quiet Porthos, running his hands over his back. He felt his own tears start to fall, seeing the man he loved in such pain overwhelming him. Out of sheer panic he kissed Porthos.

Time stopped for them both.

Porthos felt warmth rush back into his body and he kissed Aramis back feverishly. Aramis felt his urgency and drew Porthos close to him and kissed him as if his life depended on it.

They broke apart, gasping for breath. For long, long seconds they studied each other's faces in the moonlight. Porthos was utterly overwhelmed and confused. He searched Aramis' eyes in desperation trying to work out what was happening. Aramis saw Porthos' raw emotion and felt a rush of guilt that made what he felt this morning dwindle into nothing.

“Oh my beautiful boy,” he whispered. “I'm so sorry. Come here,” Aramis murmured, standing up and drawing Porthos to his feet by the hand. Porthos stumbled blindly along as Aramis took him back to the tent. Aramis guided the still sniffling Porthos to their bed. He watched as Porthos lay still, clinging to his stomach, and stared at Aramis in terror. Aramis stripped in record time, watching Porthos' eyes following his every move, seemingly refusing to even blink.

Aramis lay down beside Porthos and tugged the blanket up over them both. He pulled Porthos face against his chest felt Porthos take deep shuddering breaths.

“I'm so sorry my love,” he murmured into the dark. He stroked Porthos' hair soothingly and felt a surge of fury at himself for ever doubting his Porthos' love for him.

He felt Porthos slowly cry himself out and swallowed nervously.

“I'm so sorry for that, my boy,” he whispered into the darkness. He felt Porthos sniffling and listening to him. “I thought... I thought you might despise me for...” Aramis trailed off, lost for words.

Porthos understood but was too overwrought to speak. He was just curled tightly into Aramis, unable to move.

Aramis took a deep breath and had to get through this to explain to Porthos it was nothing he'd done.

“I thought I was wrong for making you my... slave,” he whispered. Porthos felt Aramis flinch at the word and he swallowed hard.

“I chose you,” Porthos whispered into Aramis' chest. Aramis heard his voice crack and tightened his arms around Porthos.

“Sleep, love,” Aramis murmured, stroking his hair again. “Sleep.”

 


	28. Stitching each other

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Musketeers work through what happened.
> 
> Emancipation from the bondage of the soil is no freedom for the tree.  
> Rabindranath Tagore  
> 1861-1941

Porthos woke with a throbbing headache and before he'd even moved felt Aramis tighten his arm around him. He groaned slightly and burrowed his head into Aramis' chest. Porthos could feel Aramis was still incredibly tense, despite his hand slowly stroking Porthos' back.

Porthos lifted his head after several long minutes to see the tent filled with pre-dawn grey light. He found Aramis watching him intensely. Aramis' eyes were bloodshot and rimmed with red. He had clearly continued to cry while Porthos slept.

Porthos took a deep breath and sat up. He slowly pulled himself up and sat cross-legged beside Aramis. He took Aramis' hand and kissed it. He coughed slightly, his throat raw from the last day.

“My Mum was a slave, Aramis. I grew up hearing stories about what she went through, what happened to her friends. There's plenty of freed slaves in the Court. It's part of my identity. I'll always be the child of a slave, love. You need to accept that,”

Aramis sat up slightly on his elbows and watched Porthos. He opened his mouth to respond and Porthos held his hand up.

“You need to accept that my origins and my colour are simply a part of me and not assume that things I do or want are because of that,” Porthos said firmly.

Aramis opened his mouth again and closed it. He filtered that through his head and nodded. Porthos smiled softly at him.

“I'm sorry, my love,” Aramis said quietly. “I just... I panicked.”

“You thought the colour of my skin influenced your decision to claim me as your property and was part of why I'd agreed,” Porthos said, brutally.

Aramis gasped and sat up, facing Porthos.

“No! I... I...”

Porthos held his hand up again, cutting him off.

“Have enough respect for me to admit it,” Porthos said flatly.

Aramis nodded silently, his eyes welling up. He looked up startled when he felt Porthos' rough thumb wipe his eyes.

“No more tears, love,” Porthos said gently.

Aramis smiled weakly.

“Perhaps we should have talked more about going this way but it just... happened. Perhaps I should have seen this coming. Perhaps you should have. You certainly should have spoken to me before trying to kick me out of bed,” Porthos said, letting a teasing note colour his voice. Aramis chuckled weakly.

“I chose you, Aramis. I love you. You share your life with me, you genuinely care for me. You love me. I'm more free with you, living my life authentically, than I ever was alone. Every slaver in the world thinks they're helping the African man live a better life. You're the only owner in the world who's right. I might be your property but you love me as much more than that.”

Aramis winced at the term.

“Don't flinch, love. I'm yours. I don't mean that in the romantic sense, like you are mine. I mean I'm genuinely yours,” Porthos said, reaching out and lifting Aramis' chin. “Did you not mean it when you said it?”

“I did,” whispered Aramis.

Porthos took Aramis' hand and pressed his fingers against the 'A' on his inner thigh. Aramis looked at it for a long time before looking back up at Porthos' eyes.

“Did you mean that?” asked Porthos, nerves creeping into his voice for the first time.

“Yes, my love,” Aramis said sincerely.

“Do you remember what I said afterwards?”

“You thanked me,” Aramis said, smiling and stroking the dried blood away from his initial.

“Do you think any of the slaves you're comparing me to have ever thanked their masters?”

“I'm sorry, my darling,” said Aramis, sighing deeply. Porthos smiled softly and gently tugged Aramis down into bed. He gently arranged them into their normal position, spooning Aramis.

“Get some sleep, Sire,” he murmured. Aramis turned his head to kiss Porthos gently and let himself drift off.

 


	29. Road to recovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Musketeers take to the road again, returning to Paris

Porthos was woken a short time later by the urgent need to pass water. He looked down at Aramis, still in a deep sleep, and gently eased his arm out from under Aramis' head. As he tried to pull the arm from round Aramis' middle, he felt Aramis tighten his grip on it and hug his arm closer. Porthos tugged gently again and Aramis grumbled.

“Aramis,” Porthos murmured and stifled a chuckle as his sleep deprived lover groaned. “Aramis, I need to step out for a moment,” he said quietly, tugging his arm again.

“Why?” grumbled Aramis.

“Nature calls,” said Porthos, chuckling slightly.

Aramis sighed sleepily and let go of his arm.

“You can go but be quick,” he muttered drowsily. Porthos chuckled. While he was outside he spied the dishes Aramis had piled earlier. He quickly cleaned them up and packed away the pots he didn't think they'd need for breakfast. As the early morning chill in the air started to get to him he stepped back into the tent. He slid back under the blanket and wrapped his arm back around Aramis.

“Took too long,” complained Aramis.

“I cleaned up the dishes from supper,” Porthos explained.

Aramis turned over in Porthos' arms and nuzzled into his chest.

“Didn't say you could do that. You're all cold now,” he muttered.

Porthos opened his mouth to say something and stopped himself. He quickly examined what Aramis had said.

“Sorry,” he whispered, kissing Aramis' hair. Aramis smiled against Porthos' chest.

Porthos felt Aramis drifting off again.

“Sire,” he whispered. “We should get back on the road again today. It's already eight.”

Aramis grumbled against Porthos' chest and stretched. Porthos smirked as he felt Aramis had fallen victim of a common morning affliction. Porthos gently wrapped his fingers around Aramis' length and stroked him slowly.

Aramis murmured his approval and pushed himself into Porthos' hand.

“Excellent way to wake up,” he said more alertly. He stretched his arms above his head and luxuriated in the pampering. He drew himself up to his knees, forcing Porthos to let go. Porthos smiled up at him. Aramis drew a circle in the air with his finger. Porthos felt a sudden lurch in his stomach and rolled obediently onto his stomach.

Aramis stroked himself, admiring his handiwork. He gently stroked his finger across the various welts. He estimated roughly fifteen or so that had lasted the night. Aramis leaned down and kissed the deep dark line on his buttock. Porthos shivered.

Aramis tapped Porthos' hips and licked his lips as Porthos raised his bottom into the air. Aramis admired him for a moment while oiling his fingers quickly. He slid his finger deeply into Porthos and delighted in the deep growl from his lover's chest.

“Sore, my love?” he asked.

“Yes, Sire,” came the growled answer.

Aramis smirked and circled his finger in widening circles, feeling Porthos shifting uncomfortably. He added a second finger and began to finger fuck Porthos relentlessly. He knew Porthos' muscles must still be sore after being used last night but he found himself more turned on by the knowledge.

Aramis began to spread his two fingers, forcing Porthos' muscles apart more and more. He added a third finger and moaned happily, seeing Porthos spread around his digits. Porthos groaned loudly, Aramis' long fingers inescapably deep inside him.

Aramis began to twist his fingers on each movement, feeling Porthos' muscles relax around him.

“Mmm, that's it my love. Open up for me,” Aramis murmured.

Porthos groaned again, feeling the discomfort change to the deep stretching ache he loved so much. He began to press back against Aramis' fingers. Aramis smirked and rammed his fingers in hard without warning and felt Porthos moan in arousal.

Aramis folded himself over Porthos' back and hissed quietly in his ear.

“You're right. You're mine.”

Porthos nodded helplessly. Aramis reached round and wrapped his fingers around Porthos' cock, brought to hardness by Aramis' attentions.

“This is mine now. Understand?” Aramis hissed. Porthos nodded. “You do not play with this or cum without permission.” Porthos nodded again, groaning and pushing involuntarily into Aramis hand. Aramis squeezed painfully around Porthos and released his grip.

Aramis returned to his determined finger fucking, impatiently twisting his three fingers to prepare Porthos. After a few minutes, by which time Porthos was panting, Aramis withdrew his fingers and pressed his oiled cock into his obedient lover.

Porthos growled deeply and held himself still. Aramis pushed slowly into Porthos, pressing all the way home in one long stroke. Porthos growled and clenched his fists in the pillow, losing himself in the joy of being conquered.

Aramis drew himself almost all the way out and added some more oil to his cock. He dug his fingers into Porthos' hips and began to fuck him hard. He kept his pace measured and controlled, making sure Porthos felt every inch of his length every time. Porthos squirmed underneath him.

Aramis continued without changing, luxuriating in the sensation of taking what was his. The beautiful body of his lover was like putty in his hands. He smiled, feeling Porthos again squirm. He added slightly more oil to his cock and continued stroking deeply in and out of Porthos.

Porthos was clawing at the pillows, clueless about what he wanted. He was so turned on he was aching and he could feel his entrance loosening around Aramis' long inescapable cock. He felt Aramis' sincerity in each stroke and felt every doubt and every tear either of them had shed overnight being eradicated with every unyielding long hard thrust.

After several long minutes, Porthos stopped squirming and simply sagged against the bed, his whole world shrinking to the feeling of Aramis taking him over and over. His whole mind went quiet and he had never felt more used.

Aramis felt Porthos completely submit beneath him and indulgently continued, taking advantage of his natural sexual stamina.

“That's it, boy. Accept it. You're mine to use. Mine to hurt. Mine to fuck. Mine to control. Mine, mine, mine,” Aramis chanted with each stroke, speeding up and fucking Porthos harder.

Porthos felt Aramis growing more brutal but found nothing could shake the passive calm he'd attained under Aramis' demanding thrusts.

Aramis moaned loudly, feeling Porthos remain still and submissive beneath him. He continued to increase his pace, savagely thrusting into his lover.

“Oh such a good boy. Not moving. My boy. Mine,” Aramis chanted again, driving himself viciously into Porthos, only his hands on Porthos' hips keeping his lover from collapsing under the onslaught.

As Aramis felt himself tightening he pressed his thumb harshly against the purple line. Porthos yelped in surprise and pain and the noise tipped Aramis over the edge. He moaned loudly as he emptied himself into Porthos, thrusting a couple more times as his orgasm tore through him from head to toe. Porthos whimpered helplessly beneath him, feeling surprisingly emotional.

Aramis slumped over Porthos' back to rest his sweaty forehead against Porthos' shoulder-blades. He kissed the purple patch on Porthos' shoulder and tasted a faint sheen of sweat on his skin. Aramis groaned and slowly withdrew from Porthos. He felt an aftershock, just looking at Porthos' abused hole, the muscles unable to close just yet after such rough use.

Aramis sighed happily and gently cleaned himself off for the second time in 12 hours. He flicked his gaze back to Porthos' bottom and couldn't resist sliding three fingers into his slowly closing hole. Both men groaned in unison feeling Porthos' muscles provide no resistance at all.

Aramis gently withdrew his fingers and cleaned Porthos off. Aramis sank to the bed and tugged Porthos towards him.

Porthos' legs had turned to jelly and he fell clumsily to the side. They both laughed and rearranged their limbs into their normal spooning position. Aramis smiled, feeling Porthos' still hard cock against his back and felt pride in Porthos not complaining even once at the denial.

They lay together in silence for a long time, teasingly checking the other was still awake. Finally Aramis felt Porthos' stomach rumble and stretched.

“Come on, then, lover,” Aramis said eventually. “Breakfast.”

  
  


By the time they were packed and prepared to leave, it was approaching eleven in the morning. Aramis had taken great pleasure in watching Porthos attend to his ablutions in the lake, insisting he be allowed to thoroughly inspect every mark he'd left on his lover's body.

He travelled from the nail marks on the back of his neck to the bite mark. He next examined the still purple patches on Porthos' back. He turned him round to look at the faint remnants of the nail scratches from Paris. He moved back to Porthos' rear and inspected the dark purple bruised line that still made Porthos twitch every time he touched it. He gently touched the smaller welts he'd left. Turning Porthos again he trailed his fingers back down the matching nail marks on his inner thighs and finishing by pressing a kiss to the initial he'd carved into Porthos' leg.

Aramis grinned maliciously when Porthos immediately raised himself out the saddle, being caught off guard by how much the bruised stripe hurt.

They'd looked over the map during breakfast and decided to make for Compiegne. It was about 45 miles away, which was a hard ask since they were starting about four hours late but their horses were in high spirits after their day off and they had far fewer rations now. The only bulky things they were carrying were the tent poles and the bedding.

They set off at a brisk trot, grinning at each other as their thighs complained about the posting after their intensive day.

They managed about three hours in comfortable silence. They only really spoke during the horse's walking breaks and even then it tended to be light and superficial chat. They were both reassured that despite the change in relationship, they still rode together without a difference.

They stopped for a very late lunch in the village of Chauny about 20 miles from where they had camped. Once their horses were rested, the Musketeers set off again.

After about an hour of riding, they paused to rest the horses again in Noyon, less than 20 miles from Compeigne. The sky had just begun to darken and their thighs were struggling to cope.

“Do you think we should stop here?” asked Porthos, shaking his legs out.

“When are we back on duty?”

“Monday,” Porthos answered.

“Hmm,” said Aramis thoughtfully. I'd like to be back in Paris for at least two days before we go back to the garrison and we're still a day and a half out from Paris. Today is already Thursday.”

“So we carry on, Sire?” asked Porthos.

“We do. We'll be the fittest soldiers in the regiment by the end of this!” Aramis said, heaving himself back up into the saddle with a groan. Porthos chuckled and followed suit.

They made excellent time over the next 15 miles but they were both shattered when they reached Coudun. Even their horses were feeling the fatigue when they set off again for the last few miles.

By the time they finally reached the inn, their legs were shaking. They turned the horses over to the stable boy and, for the first time in all the years they'd travelled together, accepted the help of the innkeeper to carry their baggage to their room.

After bidding the innkeeper goodnight they both stripped to their under-clothes. Porthos took a step toward the bed and felt Aramis grip his wrist gently. Porthos whined softly as Aramis led them through their stretching routine. They both positively fell into bed from sheer exhaustion. Porthos barely had the energy to lift his arm over Aramis' body before sleep took them both.

 


	30. Finally healed.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The two men finally return to Paris.

Porthos woke to find Aramis already up and stretching.

“What time is it?” he asked, squinting at Aramis.

“Nearly seven,” Aramis answered, touching his toes. He shook his limbs out and looked at Porthos.

“What is it?” said Porthos, feeling Aramis' tension.

“Just starting to get nervy about being back in Paris,” he answered, no longer even attempting to hide things from Porthos.

“Why?” asked Porthos, heaving himself to his feet.

They moved through the exercises, Aramis for the second time, in silence. As they straightened up, Porthos looked expectantly at Aramis.

“Questions,” Aramis answered honestly. Porthos nodded.

“I'll be by your side, love,” he reminded him. Aramis smiled.

They breakfasted in the common room and quickly made ready to leave. They were on the road by eight but it was a long way to Paris.

 

 

After another incredibly long day's riding, they made it as far as Dugny, a small town on the outskirts of Paris. They knew the village well, having dealt with a grain thief on one of their missions a few months earlier.

They were only 10 miles from home and decided that was close enough for the day. Dugny was much smaller and the inn didn't have a stable boy. Porthos offered to tend to the horses but Aramis smiled and sent him inside to carry the bags up. Aramis slowly rubbed them both down. He smiled as he heard footsteps in the doorway. He turned, knowing before he looked it was Porthos.

“Want some help?” Porthos asked, stifling a yawn.

“Bags all done?” Porthos nodded in reply. “Then OK.”

Porthos smiled and started to put up the tack for the night while Aramis prepared their feed. Their usual comfortable silence fell while they worked. When they were done, Aramis followed Porthos up to their room. As he stepped through the door, his face broke into a bright, wide smile.

Porthos had brought up a platter of fruits, cheeses and bread from the inn. He'd also brought them two bottles of wine and covered every surface in the room with candles. Aramis smiled and shut the door behind him. Porthos was looking slightly nervous and Aramis kissed him tenderly.

“You're so lovely,” he said softly.

They spread themselves out on the surprisingly comfortable bed and ate supper leisurely, slowly working their way through a bottle of wine each. Aramis couldn't help himself from chuckling as Porthos quickly tidied the dishes away as they finished.

Porthos snuffed out all the candles, bar the one on the end table beside his side of the bed. They curled up together and fell comfortably silent again.

“Why are you working so hard, love?” asked Porthos quietly. When Aramis didn't answer Porthos continued. “Do you have doubts about being weaker than the others? Is that it?”

“Not exactly,” Aramis answered slowly. “I think I'm still trying to prove to **myself** that I'm still strong after falling apart last time I was in Paris. What if I do it again?”

“You recounted it for the Captain and coped fine. You don't need to tell anyone else any more details than they already know. As far as I know, they know there was a massacre and that you were hurt but survived. Tréville may have told them more than that. He may have told them about Marsac or about how you were brought home. What else could they want to know?”

“Details?” asked Aramis in a small voice.

“Do you want to share details?” asked Porthos gently.

“No.”

“Then they will know in no uncertain terms that you will not be sharing,” Porthos said, stroking Aramis' hair back from his face.

“My very own brave guard dog,” Aramis murmured sleepily. Porthos chuckled.

He rolled backwards slightly to blow the candle out and wrapped himself tightly around Aramis.

 

 

Entering the city the next day, Porthos flicked his gaze to Aramis constantly.

“I'm fine, Porthos,” Aramis reassured him. Despite this, Porthos watched him carefully as they drew closer and closer to the yard. It was late morning as they rode through the gate. The yard was unusually empty. Porthos guessed why but didn't say anything when Aramis pointed it out.

Jaques was the first person to see them, roused by the sound of the horses. He froze, seeing who was riding beside Porthos. Serge followed Jaques out and nodded at Aramis. The two men hopped down from their horses and handed the reins to Jaques.

“Need any breakfast?” Serge asked them.

“We've eaten, thank you,” said Aramis quietly.

“Good to 'ave you back. You gave us a right good scare,” Serge said, clapping Aramis on the shoulder. Aramis smiled for the first time since they'd mounted up that morning in Dugny. Aramis removed his gun from the horse's holster and turned round as footsteps were heard on the stairs above them.

Porthos flicked his gaze from Captain Tréville to Aramis and busied himself separating their personal belongings from those Serge had sourced from the garrison.

“Aramis,”

Porthos heard Tréville's raspy voice.

“Captain. Good to see you. My thanks for seeing me safely home and giving me the time to heal from my injuries,” Aramis said calmly. Porthos gave an internal sigh of relief but stiffened again at Aramis' next words.

“Where is everyone?”

He turned and exchanged a glance with Tréville. He walked over to them and deposited their bag on the table loudly. Serge interjected.

“Well after Savoy we're a bit short on men so everyone's on duty,” he said, bustling past to help Jaques.

Porthos watched a shadow pass over Aramis' face and touched his wrist. Aramis looked down at the light touch and back up to Porthos. The darker man raised his eyebrows and Aramis nodded. Tréville watched this silent exchange but was stopped from commenting to the sound of footsteps entering the yard.

“Ah. Excellent timing,” he said as the man approached the group. “Aramis, Porthos,” he said indicating the two Musketeers. “This is Athos.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Prompts and requests always welcome at kitacularao3 at gmaildotcom :D


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